Hiraeth
by FragrantPrincess
Summary: "If you had the ability to change something, something that has been for many years, something written in history, but something you feel in your soul is very, very wrong…would you change it even though by doing so, things could change, perhaps, for the worse?" Without answering, she had already said 'yes'. And oh, how very different things would become for everyone.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** Hello! I am back after nearly ten years of sabbatical. For those of you who don't know, I publish chapters weekly but will post immediately after five reviews. Thank you!

Hiraeth: is a Welsh word which means 'nostalgia', or, more commonly, 'homesickness'. Many Welsh people claim 'hiraeth' is a word which cannot be translated, meaning more than solely "missing something" or "missing home." To some, it deploys the meaning of missing a time, an era, or a person. It is associated with the bittersweet memory of missing something or someone, while being grateful of that/ their existence

 _ **Music is the Key. It has the Power to transport you across time**_ **–Neil Diamond**

"He's here again." Turning from her task, Lyra's light eyes followed the direction indicated to her. "That's every night since you started. You sure he's not stalking you?" Emil, the broad shouldered and narrow minded stage manager of Engel's Pub and Brew asked as he stood over her glaring.

"I'm sure," Lyra replied, but was beginning to doubt her own words. To avoid an argument, she stood from her crouched position and slung the strap to her guitar over her head, nestling the familiar shape of the instrument against her abdomen.

"Well if you do, at least he pays. Find a few more stalkers. It's good for business. You're on in five." With that, he pushed off the wall and made his way to the sound board in the back corner. Lyra perched herself on the stool that sat center stage of the triangular shaped platform in the corner opposite the bar. Plugging her guitar in, she tested a few notes to make sure the feedback was minimal. She took a moment before starting and pulled her nearly hip length brown hair into a high ponytail to avoid catching it in the strings. Her eyes were focused on the man Emil had referred to moments before.

From across the smoke filled room, she could make out his form perched contentedly on the corner stool of the U-shaped counter. He was short, around five feet if she could guess, and looked to be in his late fifties if not older. It was hard to gauge because he nearly always kept his head down. He wasn't remarkable looking in any way, but he had a sort of familiarity to her that was both comforting and unnerving. Since starting at Engel's six weeks prior, she'd seen him every night. Despite his lack of remarkable traits, he stood out from the leather clad patrons that frequented the dive-bar. His clothing bore no motorcycle paraphernalia, or label of any kind. He wore blue tapered jeans tucked into striped rain boots, a blue thermal shirt with a denim jacket, some sort of navy colored cap that looked like those hats a fly fisherman would wear with a few shiny lures dangling around the brim.

His mix matched outfit was odd, but for this part of southwestern California, there was a fair share of the eccentric in people. The coastal shore attracted the most vibrant of road-tripper, vagabond, hippie, and tent city drifter imaginable. After all, it had attracted her, hadn't it?

However this man, who'd apparently never been spotted before her arrival, always sat at the same seat at the bar, ordered something called a midnight kiss, and sat writing in a book or sometimes flipping mindlessly through it as though making corrections. She doubted he was an educator, although there was an air of maturity about him. Over the last few days, she'd done her best to turn a blind eye to the attention she'd attracted, hoping her time at the pub was drawing to an end, but seeing the small, blue-clad man so comfortable amongst a crowd of beer bellies, plunging necklines, ratty beards, and sleeveless 'cuts', she couldn't help but admire his gumption.

Emil began flashing the stage lights snapping Lyra from her thoughts. She adjusted the microphone stand to position it near her mouth and cleared her throat. "Good evening, I'm Lyric Ireton and welcome to Engel's." The sparse crowd paid her little attention but instead had gathered around one of the only two pool tables in the hall. She sighed, a heaviness weighing so deeply inside her that it felt like it filled her from soul to skin. Pushing her forlorn thoughts away, she sat back and began playing…

…

"Don't forget my cut, sweetheart" Emil said walking past Lyra. She was bent over collecting the sparse coins and bills from her open guitar case when his unwelcome hand left a hard smack on her rear-end. Her eye roll was nearly audible. "I'll be back tomorrow!" he called over his shoulder as walked out the front, never mind the half full pint glass still in his hand.

"I'll be damned if he ever helps close one night," Louis the bartender grumbled. "I spend so much time sweeping peanuts off the ground I should have joined the circus." His shoulder length bleached hair looked neon compared to his fake-baked skin. Clearly the excessive tanning had taken its toll because the man, who was barely in his thirties, had wrinkles from forehead to neck.

"If you don't want to close down I can," Lyra offered tucking her guitar away and pocketing her tips, conveniently forgetting the sixty percent she owed the house.

"Serious?" Louis asked looking at her from over the counter with a look of suspicion. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, I uh…could just really use the money." Louis eyed her for a moment as though over dramatically sizing her up before he shrugged and tossed her the rag he'd been using.

"Done, just don't clean out the register or your ass is in a sling. And don't let me catch you passed out with a gin bottle in your hand tomorrow morning. You won't _believe_ how many times that has happened!" He slung his jacket over his shoulder, plopped the keys on the bar and headed out back without another word.

When she was sure he was gone, Lyra sank into a chair and held her head in her hands. At least she'd have a place to sleep tonight.

This time two months ago was the lowest point in her life. Having fled her home in Eastern Illinois, she'd managed to pack a bag, her guitar, empty her savings and make it out to California. In hindsight, maybe she should have picked somewhere less expensive to start over. But she needed people. She needed population…somewhere she could get lost in the crowd. Somewhere she wouldn't be found or asked questions. Working in a dive bar for five dollars an hour plus forty percent of tips wasn't where she pictured her life at thirty-four, but sometimes life throws a curve ball that hits you in the face and you just have to walk it off.

Before she got too lost in her thoughts, she rolled up the sleeves of her loose knit sweater, took the rag and wiped down the ten table tops in the bar and stacked the chairs. It took her another twenty minutes to sweep the peanut shells, wrappers, napkins and other garbage off the floor and mop the sticky surface. Taking the empty glasses behind the counter she began washing them.

"Do I have time for one more?" Lyra jumped so suddenly at the voice she dropped the glass she was drying and it shattered on the ground. Looking toward the voice, she saw the blue clad man sitting in his usual seat slurping from a straw to drink the last remnants of his drink.

"How the hell…have you been here the whole time?" Had she not noticed him? The door was definitely locked…

"Forgive me, I was using the facilities." There was something very off about this guy and Lyra looked around for the closest weapon, settling on grabbing the broom handle.

"We're closed," she said hoping her voice sounded less shaky than it felt. If it came down to fight, Lyra was confident she could hold her own against the shorter man, but preferably, he'd just leave without incident.

"Ah, I see. My own fault. It's a rather cold night; I had hoped to prolong my departure." The short man stood from his stool, his head barely peaking over the bar counter and he began walking away. Feeling suddenly very sorry for the man, and also understanding what it was like to want a warm place for a bit longer, she called out to him.

"Hey, I suppose one more won't hurt." The man turned and smiled before retaking his seat. "I uh…haven't done this in a while, so I hope it's not terrible," she said as she began mixing the liquors.

"I promise not to complain." Lyra smiled. Maybe she'd been wrong about him; there was something very pleasing about his voice and mannerisms. Having spent her fair share of nights on the streets these last few weeks, she knew that the vast majority of homeless people were genuinely good, if albeit a bit kooky. "You have a lovely voice. I've enjoyed hearing you sing."

"Eh…it's good enough to pay the bills," she teased trying to deflect the compliment with a lie. "You come in a lot."

"I have a purpose and this place helps me think," he said as Lyra put the drink in front of him. He took a straw and took a long sip. "This is quite nice, thank you Lyric."

"You can call me Lyra."

"Miss Lyra, thank you." She smiled at him and he returned it. He had the most unusually ice blue eyes, almost like they were a tinted white… "You seem sad."

"Do I?" Lyra said with a laugh, "I suppose every midnight bartender has a sob story."

"What is yours?"

"Oh, I don't think that's how this works. Usually it's the bartender who listens to the stories. Feel free to tell me yours."

"I don't have a 'sob' story. I'm quite happy, you see," he said taking another long drink. "You're hiding from something?"

"Just my parole officer."

"Not a husband?" he asked ignoring her quip. Lyra took a few steps backward and away from him.

"Are you a PI?"

"What's a 'PI'?" she eyed him for a moment, he was too naïve to have been sent.

"Never mind," she said and began cleaning up the glass pieces from the dropped glass.

"So you have a husband?"

"Not anymore, but sadly I'm not looking for a relationship if that's what you're getting at." She was only half joking about that.

"Oh no my dear, I'm far too old for you. I'll be in my fourteenth century soon…or is it my fifteenth?" Lyra laughed. He sounded so genuine.

"Oh please, you don't look a day over two hundred!"

"You're very kind," he said and set something on the counter. It was that book he always had with him.

"What are you always writing?"

"Oh, I'm not writing, I'm _reviewing_. You see, sometimes there such wonderfully tragic stories, you have to wonder…was it meant to be or was it meant to be better? I believe it's referred to as 'a perfect storm'."

"Yes I can understand that," Lyra said and finished stacking the clean glasses. "I don't think I caught your name."

"My name? You know…I've quite forgotten what it is," he laughed. Lyra looked at him with amusement and bewilderment. "You wouldn't happen to know it, would you?"

"No, I'm sorry I don't." She perched herself on the cooler in front of him. "But you look like a Hank."

"Hank….yes that's a very good name. Hello Lyra, I'm Hank," he said extending a hand to her. She laughed again and took his hand. A strange feeling overtook her, the way he stared into her eyes, the unnerving whiteness of them. For a moment she could entirely believe this man had lived for centuries and seen many wonderful things.

"Hello Hank, it's nice to meet you."

"There's something quite remarkable about you Lyra, have you ever been told that?"

"No, I don't think so, but I appreciate the compliment."

"I didn't entirely mean it as a compliment, but also an observation. Have you travelled much? Seen many lands?"

"Yes a few, I deployed twice during my military service. Can't say I went anywhere overly pleasant," she answered. It was the first time in years she'd admitted she was former infantry.

"Ah, you've seen battle. Perhaps that's what is so different about you. War can change a man, a woman in combat that is another story."

"How so? Are we less capable of fighting a war because we have breasts?" Wouldn't be the first time she's heard that. In her six years of service, she'd met only a handful of men who's treated her as an equal.

"Oh no," he said with a small blush, "but it is a sad and frightening day when women are called to fight. The ferocity of a mother fighting for child and country…it's a perfect storm of its own."

"I think I can agree with that. Where are you from Hank? You have a funny way of saying things and you sound like you've seen a war or two, yourself."

"I've seen far more battles than I cared to in many lands, which is why I've traveled very far from there. Places I don't think I'll ever return to now..." His eyes grew distant for a moment and Lyra felt a strong sense of compassion for him. It was frightening how much they had in common. "But I fear I _should_ return. I've lost my purpose, quite selfishly and now there are things set in motion…things that should be stopped. Lyra, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"If you had the ability to change something, something that has been for many years, something written in history, but something you feel in your soul is very, very wrong…would you change it even though by doing so, things could change perhaps, for the worse?"

Lyra thought for a moment, "Well…The best thing I can think of is slavery. It's written in history, we know how very wrong it is and was, so I guess if I had the chance to go back and stop it from happening, even though it would change the course of history, I would. I would know I was doing the right thing in the end. Evil is evil. If there's a chance to do something for good, I would do it."

"Fascinating…" Hank trailed off. "That's a new idea. One I should have considered before…"

"Ending slavery?" Lyra asked incredulously.

"No…you!"

"Me?"

"Perhaps that's why I've been so drawn to you…I am not the one to go, but you!"

"Hank you're not making sense," Lyra said chuckling nervously, his nearly translucent eyes were large with excitement.

"Can you hand me a pen please?" Hesitating for a moment, she jumped off the cooler, retrieved a pen from beside the phone and handed it to him. He took it, that same sensation returning as their fingers brushed, opened the book and began furiously writing inside the cover. "Please could I also have a glass of water?" Suddenly very worried Hank had lost his last marble, she turned and poured him one and scooped in a few ice cubes. But when she turned Hank was nowhere to be seen.

"Hank?" she called and looked around the empty room. "Hank!" The front door was still locked…he wasn't in the bathroom. He had vanished. Shaking her head and hoping it wasn't her own marble she'd lost, she had no other choice to return to cleaning. Next to his empty glass sat a fifty dollar bill and the book he'd been writing in. Had he left this on purpose?

Opening the cover she saw what he'd written, _Lyra, learn to retell the story. Tell the Gray One Lumequentale na vamme_ ….

So Hank _had_ lost his mind, she deduced. Maybe both of them had. Leaving the book on the counter temporarily she finished cleaning and restocking the bar. Turning the lights out, she took the garbage out the back and from the side of the dumpster, she retrieved her large hiking backpack and returned inside and dropped it on the stage. After a quick raid of the kitchen, she sat with her spoils and unfurled the sleeping bag that was rolled on the bottom. Using her pack as a pillow she nestled in and ate her late night dinner.

Although she tried to keep it from her mind, her eyes kept returning to the book on the counter and replaying the strange encounter. Pushing herself up, she crossed the room and took it from its place. Flipping past the first page with Hank's inscription she turned to the title page.

The Hobbit

Furrowing her brow, Lyra flipped through several more pages. This had been her favorite book growing up. Her father had read it to her for the first time when she was only five. It was the first chapter book she'd ever read on her own…why would Hank have this?

It wasn't an uncommon book, Tolkien was famous, certainly. And with the release of his movies there was a genuine hype about the fantasy stories. Clearly Hank was having some sort of dissociative complex where he mistook fiction for history.

As she continued to flip through pages, out of the bottom a card fell. Picking it up it had an address for a seaside estate, _"if lost please return to…"_ not knowing whether it was Hank's address or a bookstore, she climbed back inside her sleeping bag, not bothering to undress in case she needed to be up quickly, and with nothing else to do she began rereading the nostalgic text until sleep finally claimed her.

The walk was long and between her backpack and the guitar, she was rather weighed down, but she enjoyed the quiet and getting away from Engel's was a relief. She'd set off early, right after dressing and packing up the evidence of her stay, knowing it would be at least a two hour walk through neighborhoods, a shopping district and down toward the boardwalk. According to the GPS on her phone, she was getting close. The decision to find the address indicated from the card that had fallen from the book wasn't an easy one. She'd tossed and turned for over an hour that morning wondering if her conversation with Hank had been a stress induced hallucination. The book had been real enough though, so that meant Hank had to be… _right_? Even though she knew it was likely he'd return to the bar that night, like every night previously, she felt an urge to seek him out. To see where he lived, or at the very least where the book had come from.

On her left, the California coast stretched, the salt water was fragrant and there was still a hint of the previous day's sunscreen in the air. Despite only being early spring, this part of the state was always warm and was a common location for tourists. Even now, as shops and restaurants were opening for breakfast, there were people littering the pier and the sidewalks were scattered with joggers. Far down the beach someone was hosting a yoga class. _A little salty stretching_ , she mused and looked down as her phone buzzed. She'd arrived.

Looking to her right, she was standing directly in front of a renovated house that had been turned into a souvenir antique shop. _The Two Blues_ was painted above the doorway and the small lawn out front was covered in garden gnomes, ceramic animal figures, blown glass ornaments, and statuettes. Lyra passed a frog, a nude woman holding an overturned pot that trickled water, and a creepy taxidermy stuffed squirrel before reaching the door. She had to duck under a large wind chime to get inside but her backpack caught the edge of it and the hollow metal tubes rang loudly.

"Come in, come in!" a creaking voice called from somewhere in the back. Lyra could hear the shuffling of feet and tried her best to follow the sound. Every inch of the wallpapered walls were covered in pictures, mirrors, and paintings. Boxes and shelves lined the narrow walkway and were filled with every imaginable trinket.

"Hello?" she called feeling like she was navigating the front of the house in some elaborate game of Marco Polo.

"Yes, yes, back here follow the tracks!" Confused, Lyra looked down as a noisy _choo choo_ chirped at her feet. Around the baseboards, and wrapping around bookcases, vases, and pots, a model train rolled along an electric powered track. Following the toy, she found herself standing in a room with books piled from floor to ceiling, the far end of the room holding large windows that streaks of light trickled through and illuminated the dust particles in the air. "Who are you?" cooed a vibrato voice. Standing on the fifth rung of a ladder that was propped against the wall, stood a man in an oversized blue sweatshirt that reached his knees, his legs covered in white leggings and his feet were bare.

"I'm Lyra," she said unsure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. "I'm looking for Hank."

"Hank?" he asked and began climbing down. He wore a pair of round, brown framed glasses and had a white beard. She couldn't describe him as tall, although he was easily over six feet. But rather he was long…everything about him was long. Arms reached mid-thigh, his neck stretched tall, and his forehead was nearly double the average. "Am _I_ Hank?" The disturbing part of his question was that it wasn't directed at her, but to himself. "Yes, yes I must be," he muttered and moved toward Lyra. She jumped back and knocked into a stack of books that toppled over. Hank-two ignored her and the clatter as he walked behind a counter with an old fashioned cash register and, folding his hands on the top, finally met her eyes and smiled. "Welcome to The Two Blues, I'm Hank, how can I help you?"

"Is this some kind of joke?" Lyra asked as she cautiously picked up the books she's knocked over.

"If it is, I don't think it's a very good one," the man answered. "Unless you find it funny, then I suppose it's a good one."

"Listen, I uh…just came to return this," she said pulling the book Hank-one had left at the bar. "I met someone last night who forgot this." She handed it to the man, careful to avoid any contact.

"Lyra?" the familiar voice was a welcome escape from the even stranger Hank from the previous Hank. "Well, well, I was right about you!"

"Hank," she said seeing the short man come from behind an armchair that was covered in books as well.

"Yes?" the tall man asked.

"No, not you," she said annoyed. "You left your book at Engel's last night, and way too much money for a poorly made drink. I thought I'd return them." Before she could reach the book she'd placed on the counter, Tall Hank snatched it from her.

"How could you part with this?" he snapped at the shorter man. "Have we not been planning this for years?"

"I didn't _lose_ it, I baited the hook, you see and I've made a catch!" They both paused and looked at Lyra who was gaping like a deer in headlights.

"Her? You've gone senile!" Tall Hank roared.

"No more than you, ya lanky codger! It's _my_ risk to take unless you've changed your mind and you're going." Short Hank had climbed up a stairwell of books to stare into the towering man's face.

"You know I can't make that trip, I'm far too tall. Only half of me would make it!"

"A likely excuse, more likely too scared ya stretched out prawn!"

"Don't take that tone, you-you bald backed imp!"

"Hanks!" Lyra yelled over them. Without changing their posture, both men turned their heads to look at her. "What the hell are you arguing about?"

"You!" they both said in unison. Without another word, they both returned to yelling impractical insults at each other. Lyra didn't know whether to interject, call the police, or make popcorn. The sight was comical, but it didn't do anything to provide answers.

Tall Hank had dropped the book while flailing his arms so she knelt to pick it up. It was then her eye caught something. It looked strangely like a bird bath, but the stone carving around the basin was incredibly elaborate. Her feet were moving forward before she realized it. It was waist high and when she looked into the bowl, it took her a moment to realize it was full. The liquid was so still and reflective, it gave a perfect reflection of her face and the ceiling above, she had at first mistaken it for a mirror. Even as she placed her hands on the side, the water didn't move.

It vaguely registered to her that the Hanks had stopped arguing, but only because a low humming was emitting from the basin. So focused on listening to the clearly female voice, she didn't notice when the Hanks stood on either side of her.

"What do you see?" Short Hank asked.

"I don't see anything," she replied and it startled her how slowly she was speaking. "I can hear…."

"What, what do you hear?" Tall Hank pressed.

"Singing," she answered. "Someone is singing…" the melody was getting louder and the repetitive tone was beginning to sound familiar.

"I think you were right, my short friend. You have indeed made the proper catch. Give this here," Tall Hank said and took the book from her hand. She didn't tear her eyes away from those of her own reflection when he did so because from deep under the surface of the water, small bubbles of light began to surface and cause ripples and pulses simultaneously.

Unable to tear her eyes away from the beating light, she could only hear the fluttering of pages. Hank was flipping through the book. It grew louder and louder, the ruffle mixing with the music until it sounded more like the roar of wings and the voice seemed as though it were coming from her own mouth. It was then she noticed her hair was blowing wildly and the light was growing so bright she had to close her eyes.

"Hank!" she called trying to grab hold of the table, "Hank what's happening?" there was no answer but instead a rush of cold air so frozen it took the breath right out of her. She gasped, trying to inhale, but there was no air to breath. Unable to scream, the world came rushing out from underneath her and she felt herself being blown across the room. She vaguely remembered felling her chest smash hard into something before it all came to an abrupt halt.

Lyra wasn't sure if she'd lost consciousness or she'd simply been spinning from the collision. Her backpack had absorbed most of the blow, but her guitar had landed on her chest. With eyes still shut, she pushed the case off of her and put a hand to her head. Nothing felt broken, but the light was still burning her eyes.

She risked opening them only to find she wasn't staring at the unusual water, but instead was staring at a bright sun in a clear sky. Careful to not jolt her head, she slipped her arms out of the straps of her pack and sat up.

All around her were rolling hills covered in thick grass that was nearly knee high. A few sparse trees of a variety she didn't recognize sprung from the ground and towered as though they'd grown for hundreds of years. The air was so fresh she was certain no amount of pollution had ever stained it.

A gentle breeze was blowing, but other than that, there wasn't a sound to be heard. No cars. No voices. No rush of the distant ocean or low roar of a passing airplane. Lyra stood to her feet once her head stopped spinning and realized, there was not a house in sight.

"Oh shit…" she muttered, holding a hand to her forehead. "I'm in Narnia."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thank you to the wonderful people who reviewed! To answer a few questions: I will be adding a lot of custom content to this story and altering a few things, yes. Why? Because it's fanfiction. Secondly, don't expect to see much verbatim script. I may use a few things, but not much. Once again, five reviews get another chapter so keep it up!**

Lyra had been walking for an hour when she finally heard what sounded like someone in the distance. It had taken her several minutes after her arrival to wrap her throbbing head around the fact the world she'd previously been standing in had fallen out from underneath her. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the two Hanks were not normal. Be it spell, portal, or murdered into the afterlife, there was no possibility she was on earth anymore.

Having spent the better part of her youth traveling as an army brat, she'd seen the highlands of Scotland, the shores of Australia, the sea of China and the hews of Istanbul, but never in her life had she seen grass this perfectly green, trees with such smooth and flawless bark, or a sky that sparkled like turquois. Until that moment when she heard the scratching of tread on dirt, she'd begun to fear she stumbled into a scene from What Dreams May Come.

Following the humming, which was far more masculine than the voice she'd heard from the basin, her feet found a dirt road with two tracks indicating wheels of some kind.

At first she heard the clicking of spokes like on wooden wheels, then the huffing and braying of a horse's nostrils. Then the humming became a distinctly lively tune. Tucking the straps of her bag tighter she jogged toward the sound that was moving away from her.

"Hello!" she called once she crested the top of the hill. With her luck, it would be a Telmarine caravan and she'd be killed her first day. She could see a single horse drawn wagon tumbling in the distance with a single occupant. "Hey! Wait!" She was running downhill now and the figure appeared to have heard her as he pulled the cart to a stop. Turning in his seat to look behind him, Lyra stopped dead in her tracks nearly twenty feet away. There was no mistaking the kindly eyes looking at her. The tall pointed hat, the full beard, the gray cloak and staff at his side. "Gandalf…" she breathed. _This isn't Narnia_ …

"Do I know you?" he asked; the creak of his jovial voice full of curiosity. His eyes, which were a darker color than she'd imagined they would be, were scanning her, probably bewildered to see a woman in ripped jeans, a flowing floral blouse, and sandals carrying a military grade backpack and guitar as though she'd stumbled out of some sort of bohemian war.

"No," she said cautiously approaching. "But I know you." She reached the side of the wagon. "I think…I think I'm supposed to be looking for you. Have you seen this before?" She pulled the book out of the side pocket of her bag and handed it to him. Suddenly 'the gray one' made sense. He took it, keeping his eyes on her, before looking down and flipping the cover open. His eyes furrowed a moment, his thick eyebrows obscuring the top part of his face. His hand was trembling as he stroked the page with a thumb before looking at her again with such a serious expression that it gave her a sliver of fear.

"Where did you get this?" His question had a bite to it that dared her to tell a lie.

"It was a gift from Hank…well…I called him Hank, I don't know what his real name is. It didn't make sense at the time, but he told me to 'find the gray one'. That can only be you. You're the gray wizard!"

"I am indeed. And I take it, my dear, that you are 'Lyra'?" She nodded. "I would recognize this handwriting anywhere; it is the distinctive and esoteric scrawl of the youngest of the Blue Wizards. And you know…I've quite forgotten their names too." He chuckled and handed the book back to her. "Will you climb aboard? I have a feeling you've quite the tale to tell."

Lyra tossed her bag and guitar into the back and took the hand he was extending. She settled in next to him and he snapped the reins to urge the horse on.

"Before I start, can you tell me…where are we?"

"We're in the Southern Bree Fields; I'm on my way to the village. It won't be long before we're there, so please, for the sake of time and to satisfy my overwhelming curiosity. Tell me, who you are and why the Blue Wizards have sent you."…

"And then I woke up in the field. I'd been walking nearly an hour before I found you." She finished her story, her hands wringing in her lap the whole time. The story sounded much more insane when she tried to explain it out loud. Not simply the facts of two Hanks luring her into a shop and a singing birdbath transporting her across worlds, but trying to explain everything without using words like 'electricity' or 'California'. Gandalf had lit his pipe about five seconds after she explained she was from a different world and he puffed on it silently without interrupting, which almost made the telling harder.

"So," he said after several minutes of silence had passed. "It sounds as though you have been drafted into quite the adventure."

"It would seem so. I should be frightened, I think…but I'm not," she admitted. Of course the intrusive thoughts of how she'd get back, what was her purpose, how she'd ever charge her cell phone, and things of that nature had run through her mind. But she supposed the best course of action was to let magic run its course.

"But to what end?" Gandalf asked more to himself than her. "And what do the Maiar know of Middle Earth when they've been gone all these years."

"I think I can answer that," Lyra said and he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "We know of you, of Middle Earth in my world. Although…people think the stories are fiction…uh…fable. Made up," she said trying to elaborate. "But your stories, the things that have happened in Middle Earth, a few particular stories, they're finished. We know how they end as if they've already happened."

"And what stories would those be?"

"I don't know if I should say…I don't know if there are rules to all of this." Gandalf made a tisking sound in his throat. Lyra searched for a way to ask what time they were in. "Gandalf, who is the King of Gondor?"

"There is no king on the seat of Gondor. Not for many years. A steward sits on the throne…"

"Denethor?" Gandalf actually turned to look at her as though shocked she knew that name.

"No…Turgon, Denethor's grandfather sits the seat. How do you know of such things?" The sternness in his voice had returned.

"If Denethor is that young…then it can't be the time of…then that would mean…" she pulled the book out again. "The Hobbit…"

"I beg pardon, did you say _hobbit_?"

"Gandalf," Lyra said looking at him wide eyed, "I'm here to help reclaim Erebor!" The wagon came to a halt so abruptly Lyra nearly fell out.

"I think it's time you handed over that book," he said extending a hand. Lyra looked at him intently, holding the book tightly and she shook her head. "I won't ask again." She could tell Gandalf was growing in size and the sky seemed to grow darker.

"Gandalf, I can't," she said hoping he wasn't about to run her through or turn her into something unnatural. "You-you're-you're an Istari! There is power that you wield and power that you can't. Like the rings of power and the stones of Palantir… even the Blue Wizards knew they couldn't be the ones to come. They tasked me with this. To-to keep it secret, to keep it safe!" By God how she hoped her movie references wouldn't run out. After a moment of considering her words, he withdrew his hand.

"You know more than most. What I have yet to decide is whether that is good news or ill." He trailed off and started the wagon up again.

"I have nothing but good intentions Gandalf, I know I can help," she promised.

"Many a terrible thing has happened with the best of intentions. The power of fore-knowledge is a dangerous thing. One can try to stay the course and wander from it, or alter the path and destroy it. Take heed, Lyra, you may know much but you don't know everything."

"Agreed," she said taking his advice. "But between the two of us Gandalf, my knowledge and your wisdom, perhaps we can prevent…" she didn't finish her sentence.

"Prevent what?" He pressed.

"Death."

The wagon entered the gates of Bree near midday. Despite the shining sun, the muddy roads squished under hoof and wheel. Gandalf had conducted himself so similarly to her impression of him from the books she'd read, that the entire trip she'd scarcely been able to keep her eyes off him. A fact he seemed most amused about. Yet even the mastery of Tolkein couldn't transcribe the mystery around him.

His whole demeanor was so contrary. While appearing as an old man, his rigid and upright posture held a timeless youth. His drab and weather worn clothing made him seem so unimposing, but the hilt of his sword, the knotted staff, and his confidence spoke of a ferocity she didn't want to test.

"Bildryman!" Gandalf greeted as they entered the Inn of the Prancing Pony. The burly man guffawed and hooted at the sight of his favorite wizard.

"Gandalf, how good to see you!" Bildryman made his way over to the front counter and that's when he spotted Lyra a half step behind Gandalf. He looked over her strange clothing, large packs, and pretty face. "You've brought company, that's unlike you. Never known you to travel but on your own."

"Yes, I've made myself quite the companion who requires a room for a time."

"I'm happy to oblige, will ye be needing it for long? I can settle you into one of the larger rooms upstairs from the bunkhouse if ye like."

"That would be great, Bildryman," Lyra answered. "I uh can't pay you though." The large man glanced at her and then to Gandalf who looked guilty.

"I supposed I could do this favor for Gandalf's sake, for a night or two…"

"I'm sure our young guest could make herself useful, as compensation. As a cook, perhaps?" They both looked down at her.

"Can't cook," she replied.

"A barmaid?"

"Not likely."

"Well there's must be something you can…"

"I can sing and play an instrument!" she said quickly.

"A bard!" Bildryman cried. "We don't get many bards around here; you're most welcome young miss! We're happy to have your services. I'll gladly trade room and board as long as yer willing to play!"

"Then it's settled," Gandalf agreed. "Let's have something to eat then." Lyra followed Gandalf who followed Bildryman into the main dining area. There were only five others in the room, two at the bar and the other three huddled in the corner. Business clearly wasn't booming at the lunch hour.

It was almost too picturesque, sitting at the table in front of the fireplace with Gandalf the Gray, two plates of bread and cheese, and two tankards of honey ale. The latter she was so grateful for, she had no embarrassment as she took several large gulps.

"There's another mystery I fear I will need help solving," Gandalf said after he'd swallowed a bite of food.

"What is that?" Lyra asked feeling the warmth spread in her stomach.

"You, my dear."

"Me?" she asked with rounded eyes. "Of all the strange things happening today, I don't think I make the list."

"Perhaps, but there must be a reason the Maiar chose you. Until now, I had thought they had abandoned our task for richer, more peaceful shores…"

"I think they missed _that_ mark…"

"…but I am relieved to hear they are alive, even if they are gone. Yet they had the chance to return and instead sent you. Now the question begs why?"

"I'm not so sure they wanted to return," she answered honestly. "They both seemed reluctant. One of them even said he was too tall to return."

"That would be the taller of the two, I assume."

"Well it certainly wouldn't be the short one."

"How inconvenient it is to not remember their names. What was it you called them?"

"Hank."

"Which one?"

"Well the first one and then the second one called _himself_ Hank."

"Yes, I can see that confuses things quite a bit," Gandalf muttered.

"You're telling me," Lyra sighed and reached for her glass again. They sat quietly for a moment and that's when she noticed he was staring at her. Sizing her up was more likely.

"There is something quite odd about you, I can't place it."

"I preferred 'remarkable'…"

"Pardon?"

"Odd how? Besides the strange clothes and being from another world and all." Gandalf coughed into his mug and looked around to ensure no one had overheard.

"Yes, that I'm sure is part of it. In your...world, are there many kinds of people? Races I mean?"

"Like elves and dwarves and wizards?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Then you are…human."

"When I've had my coffee."

"You're being clever, I suspect, but your humor has me at a disadvantage I fear." He folded his hands on the table; his fingers were long and thin like a piano player's.

"I'm sorry Gandalf," she said sincerely and set her drink aside. "I've walked off the edge of the world and into the pages of a storybook. I'm still a little disoriented. I don't know why the Blue Wizards chose me, or if they simply took me out of convenience. I'd like to pretend there's something special about me, but there's not. I was just in the right place I supposed."

"It's funny, but since meeting you I haven't had a single inclination that anything you've spoken to me has been untrue, until just now." Lyra narrowed her eyes in confusion. "There is more to you than meets the eye and one way or another, we're going to learn what that is. But not just yet. For now, I'll need to leave you in the capable care of our dear Mr. Bildryman."

"Gandalf," Lyra said incredulously, "you can't just leave me here!"

"I am only leaving for a short time. When you came upon me I was on errand to the greenway and I must complete it. I have all the confidence you have a part to play in the reclamation of Erebor, but until I have found and spoken to…"

"Thorin," Lyra finished for him. "He'll be here, at this Inn…" she wracked her brain trying to remember. "He-he's looking for his father, when he doesn't find him, he'll come through Bree. You must meet him here." Gandalf looked as though he had a million questions, but only nodded as he stood.

"Give me a week's time, I'll return for you. I trust you can remain _discreet_?"

"You have my word."

 _As I came down through Dublin City  
At the hour of twelve at night  
Who should I see but the Spanish Lady  
Washing her feet by candlelight  
First she washed them, then she dried them  
Over a fire of amber coal  
In all my life I ne'er did see  
A maid so sweet about the soul_

 _Whack for the toora loora laddy  
Whack for the toora loora lay  
Whack for the toora loora laddy  
Whack for the toora loora lay_

 _As I came back through Dublin City,  
At the hour of half past eight  
Who should I spy but the Spanish Lady  
Brushing her hair in the broad daylight  
First she tossed it, then she brushed it  
On her lap was a silver comb  
In all my life I ne'er did see  
A maid so fair since I did roam_

 _Whack for the toora loora laddy  
Whack for the toora loora lay  
Whack for the toora loora laddy  
Whack for the toora loora lay_

 _As I went back through Dublin City  
As the sun began to set  
Who should I spy but the Spanish Lady  
Catching a moth in a golden net  
When she saw me, then she fled me  
Lifting her petticoat over her knee  
In all my life I ne'er did see  
A maid so shy as the Spanish Lady_

 _Whack for the toora loora laddy  
Whack for the toora loora lay  
Whack for the toora loora laddy  
Whack for the toora loora lay  
Whack for the toora loora laddy  
Whack for the toora loora lay  
Whack for the toora loora laddy  
Whack for the toora loora lay_

The Inn erupted in cheers and the banging of mugs on the tables. Lyra took a bow, her eyes beaming and a smile from ear to ear. Gandalf's week had turned into three and in that time, word of a "bard" in those parts had brought large crowds to the Prancing Pony. Bildryman was beyond happy at the business and Lyra, despite her anxiety that Gandalf would not return for her, was elated at the attention her music was getting. Engel's never turned a crowd like this.

It had been so long since she'd felt this level of elation. Being caught up in the utter simplicity of life in Bree had somehow turned into the antidote she'd needed. Years of persistently increasing misery in her own life back in her own world had robbed her of any semblance of a smile. Now after these long weeks, full of slow days and endless faces, music and learning, she was beginning to find a rhythm that was so very different from what she'd left behind. What she'd escaped from.

"Another, another!" a drunken man called from the back. Lyra raised her hand signaling she needed a short break. There were a few boos of protest, but mostly claps and cheers of appreciation.

Lyra walked to the counter and took a vacant seat. One of the attendants plopped a mug of ale in front of her that sloshed a little on her green skirt. She laughed and wiped it off before taking a large swig. The golden ale was strong and sweet and made her cringe a little.

It had become obvious why Gandalf had questioned her about her race the longer she was in the village. The people, at least in these parts, were pale and stout. The men had sloping shoulders and rounded faces with bulbous noses and thick blonde beards or mustaches. The women, too, were round faced and the laugh lines around their eyes and mouths were so inset, they looked like they'd been carved that way. Their clothing wasn't vibrant, but the young women all wore aprons and the men wore large hats when outdoors. Staring at the room around her, the wild laughter, smiles painted everywhere, Lyra had a sudden reminder of a Hans Dahl painting she'd seen in a picture book once.

The last three weeks had been a learning curve for her, trying to pick up the language style, and learn what she could. What Bildryman hadn't been able to help with, the other ale maidens had, like the acquisition of her skirts and blouses. Her pack had contained a fair amount of candy bars, the likes of which were never seen in Bree, for obvious reasons. After a few samples, the girls were eager to trade old garments for the treats.

When Lyra wasn't working in the alehouse of the Inn, she was memorizing every word in the book Short Hank had given her. She'd read it in its entirety almost every day since her arrival. She also tasked herself with acquiring what she suspected she may need for her journey. Although she feared wandering too far from the Inn in case of Gandalf's arrival, she'd been able to send requests and tradable items, such as cotton socks, a spare lighter, a packet of paper, and few pens (which were fascinating to the locals) to Bildryman's son, Barley, who went into the market for her. She'd made an oath to herself that if Gandalf didn't return in the next few days, she would venture by herself to Bilbo's house. She knew the quest could not continue without him and ultimately, she'd run into Gandalf again there…and the Company.

She tried her best not to conjure images of what they'd look like in her mind. As a child, she'd been able to see them so clearly. In part because of her imagination and the other for the animated series she'd watched, curled under blankets with her parents. Now as she returned to the story as an adult and found herself on the cusp of the journey she'd walked a hundred times on page, there was a longing in her to know them…it was childish, but also exhilarating. So, in no way was anyone going to keep her from this quest. She'd march on Erebor alone if needed.

"Grumpy bastard as he is, he's done fine work with my blades. Butchering a goat has never been easier!" A man next to her was saying to his companion.

"Eh all dwarves are like that, bitter and coarse. Probably from all that digging!" the two men laughed and began drinking their ales.

"Excuse me," Lyra said interrupting their conversation. The men were in their early forties and gave her crooked grins, which she promptly ignored. "Did you say dwarf? In these parts?"

"Aye," the man closest to her said. " 'e set up shop down the road by the blacksmith two nights ago. 'ad him sharpen my butcher knives, cost a pretty penny, greedy bastard."

"Is he still here?"

"What's it to ya? You a dwarf lover?"

"Oh never mind," Lyra said standing and making to move past them but the man who'd been seated closest to her caught her arm.

"Aint nothing that dwarf can give you that I can't," he said in a low voice. Lyra arched an eyebrow, looked from the man, to his hand on her arm, and back up.

"You're a butcher, right? I'll tell you what," she snapped and pulled her arm away, "when I want a _pig_ , I'll come and find you." Without waiting, she turned on her heel and walked to the door. "Bildry, I'm taking a walk!" He waved her off, clearly distracted with the full room.

Lyra swung her cloak on and pulled the hood up. This part of early April was full of rain and there was still a chill in the air. Tucking as much of her hair under her hood as she could she began the trek through the mud toward where she assumed the blacksmith was by the billows of smoke.

Her stomach was fluttering with nerves as she tried to keep herself from getting too eager at the prospect it was him. Surely other dwarves ventured into these parts, but the signs all seemed to point to it being the son of Thrain. Attempting to rehearse what she might say, what she _should_ say, if it was him, her thoughts went blank when she turned the corner. Halfway down the adjoining street was the forge.

And him.

There was no mistaking. Just as the men and women had distinctive looks, what moved about the stone roof lean-to was no man. No ordinary one.

He stood over an anvil swinging a hammer at a glowing red horseshoe with such force sparks were flying from it and sizzling into the puddles on the ground. Bare chested save for his undershirt and protective gauntlets, his broad shoulders were a mile wide. Narrow hips, thick thighs and large feet became visible as he came from around the anvil to dip the glowing metal into a bucket of water. The steam hissing and a ploom of it obscured his face for a moment.

His dark hair that was subtly streaked with silver was knotted into a braid behind his head and his beard had recently been trimmed. As she approached she could see more of his features. His eyebrows were high, his nose was long and straight, thin lips and low chin which fit his square jawline and thick neck perfectly. The thin fabric of his shirt was soaked with rain and sweat and clung to muscles in his arms and back and she could see the dark stains on his skin of tattoos but were too obscured to make out any detail.

Lyra swallowed hard as she approached, her hands clenching her skirts nervously. The stigma of short dwarves was clearly exaggerated. While not as tall as Gandalf, surely, she saw nothing abnormal about his height, but the difference in his physique was clearly not human. His skin looked taut and leathery. Every bit of him looked hardened and sculpted, like a boulder or pillar.

She was barely three paces away from the forge when he tossed his tools onto the bench and wiped his brow free of sweat with a rag. He took a long swig of water, his back still to her. By God she couldn't remember what she was going to say…

"Were you in need of something?" his gruff voice called, but he didn't turn. "Or have you come to stare at the dwarf?" The roll of his brogue gave her involuntary goosebumps.

"I wasn't staring," Lyra said defensively. He turned then, perhaps startled to hear a woman's voice from the dark. She inhaled sharply as their eyes met. The blue that penetrated her reminded her of the brilliant blue of the wizard's pool. "I've come to-to commission an item." _Commission an item? Yeah, that was good!_ Lyra mentally praised herself.

"Really?" he asked wiping his hands on the same cloth, "and what sort of item would that be? I don't make _jewelry_." There was no mistaking the bitter way he spat the word as if he was prepared for an insult. He clearly wasn't fond of taking orders.

"That's a shame," Lyra replied in an even tone as she stepped out of the rain and under the canopy where it was dry. "I bet you could craft a _lovely_ brooch." She idly touched one of the hammers that was hanging from the rack above the coals. Her eyes returned to his to find his eyebrows raised. "I'm joking," she elaborated. "I hear you craft fine weaponry."

"Where did you hear that?" he asked watching her intently as she moved around the coal pit. He was convinced she wasn't so much intrigued with the tools as she was investigating him. The brightness of the fire against the dark and rainy night made it difficult to make out any of her cloaked features.

"At the Inn…the Prancing Pony, I'm a bard there. Men were speaking well of you."

"I find that hard to believe," he retorted. She was holding a pair of heavy metal tongs; her hood was still up but he saw a few strands of dark hair peeking out. It looked almost black in the glow of the fire.

"Well…maybe not _you_ , but your work," she admitted and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed. Her light green eyes were filled with something…she wanted more than what she was stating. "Can you help me or not?"

"Not." He turned his back on her again and returned to hammering the horseshoe.

"I can pay you."

"I don't want your coin."

"Thorin Oakenshield refusing gold? Never thought I'd hear of that…" he turned abruptly, his eyes daggers. He reached for the nearest knife.

"How do you know my name?" She moved quickly to the other side of the forge, clearly she'd seen him reach for the knife and was putting distance between them.

"I know many things, Thorin son of Thrain." She stopped moving long enough to remove her hood. He got a better look at her then. A honeyed complexion, she clearly spent time in the sun, a dark head of hair that was woven into a single braid over her shoulder, black outline over her eyes and pink lips. She was dressed simply in a green skirt and white top with a brown leather bodice over her abdomen. She was shorter than most women in these parts, but he suspected her limbs to be long the way her cloak fell.

"Who are you and why have you come here?" His eyes weren't moving from hers and she made no attempt to break the eye contact.

"My name is Lyric, I'm from lands far beyond the shores of Middle Earth. And I've come…for a sword."

"A sword…" he balked

"Yes, nothing elaborate, something simple and easily concealed. I'll need something light, as I have a long journey ahead of me."

"Journey? I thought you said you were a bard at the Inn."

"I am many things," she said coyly. "A bard. An adventurer. A musician. A Fortune Teller." With each declaration she took another step toward him and he stood his ground until she was right in front of him. "For now, your concern is only that I am a customer." He didn't recoil when she took his hand in hers, the size of his nearly double her delicate one, and placed a coin purse in his palm.

"I did not agree to service," he said staring down at her. Neither of them blinking. "I cannot accept payment…"

"You can, because I know you'll craft my sword. Not for gold, that is for material. I will pay your services in secrets. Secrets I know of you. I know of your father. Secrets I know of Erebor." He pulled his hand away roughly and slammed the coin purse onto the table.

"Witch," he spat and looked ready to strangle her. "You know nothing but taunts and leers!" She didn't look phased by his outburst which unnerved him. It was almost as though she expected it.

"But I do know, Thorin…King Under the Mountain, and distrust me all you want. But I've come to help you reclaim what was stolen from you." It was the way her eyes rounded with sincerity that bothered him.

"How?" he asked quietly, menacingly.

"Bring the sword to the Inn, I'll pay you in answers." She made to leave but he grabbed her wrist. Turning her head she locked eyes with him and smiled softly as though she'd enjoyed some well-mannered and polite conversation with him. Taken aback, he released her wrist. "Good night…Thorin."

Stepping back out into the rain, she drew her hood up and ran back down the way she came. He stood for a moment staring after her until she disappeared around the corner. Turning around, his head still catching up to the conversation, he tossed aside the horseshoe and grabbed an iron ingot from the shelf and placed it into the smelter.

 **P/S Spanish Lady by Celtic Woman**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I love the questions and the positive feedback (and suggestions).**

Two days later Lyra was still humming from her introduction to the legendary Thorin Oakenshield. He'd been so much more than she'd expected. Her ruse had gone off a little thick, but she knew she had to give him incentive to stay in town until Gandalf arrived.

Although he hadn't been seen at the Inn, there was no gossip that he had departed. Lyra dared not leave the shelter of the Prancing Pony until either he or Gandalf came. All the same, she made sure she had a pack ready.

Among her things she still had from home, she'd acquired two skirts, a two pairs of trousers, three blouses, a small hatchet, and a loose fitting pair of bracers, leather boots and cloak.

She used the money Bildry had been paying her to pay for the sword she knew she'd inevitably need. In effort to earn a little more, she volunteered to serve a few meals during the day.

As she moved around the dining area clearing plates from the early dinner hour, Bildry waved her over. "Alright to play again tonight?"

"Of course!" she said smiling.

"You've done great work here, far better than I could have expected. I'll be loathed to see you go."

"I'm not going yet," she said confused.

"I suspect ya will be, soon enough. Gandalf is bound to return sooner or later. He did say a few weeks."

"He told me one week."

"One? He told me a fortnight. Which in his case, would be closer to a month."

"Why didn't he tell me that himself?" she asked setting the bowls down. Bildry shrugged.

"I've given up asking that man why he does things the way he does. It's a wizard's business when he comes and goes," he acknowledged and Lyra couldn't argue that logic. "Still, I'd be surprised if he doesn't return in the next day or two."

"Then I'll be sure to give a splendid performance tonight. Let me finish clearing these and I'll start early." Bildry was beaming and a part of Lyra felt very sad to be leaving the sweet man. Taking the dishes to the wash area, she gathered the food waste in the bucket and left out the back to take it to the slop pit for the animals.

The air that night had warmed; the roads uncommonly dry now from what had been only a few nights before. The sun was nearly set and already patrons were beginning to enter the Inn.

"There's the little songbird!" Lyra jumped at the voice that came from behind the fence. Two men appeared. The butcher and his friend. "And 'ow are we tonight, _dwarf lover_?"

"I realize I have a bucket of slop, but this isn't for you, Swine," Lyra replied and moved back down the length of the building toward the door.

"Oi!" the other man called and grabbed her by the shirt and tugged her backward until he had a grip on her upper arms.

"Get off me," she snapped and drove her elbow hard into his chest. He coughed in pain and shoved her into the wall. She dropped the bucket and put her hands up to protect her face from collision.

"We don't like your kind in this village!" the butcher yelled as he moved toward her.

"My kind? You mean someone with manners?" she spat. He reached for her and she slugged him in the nose. He gripped his face, blood pouring through his fingers. The sting of her knuckles meeting bone rang up her arm.

"Little bitch," the other man yelled and swung at her. She ducked and his fist hit the wall with a crunch. She took the opening and drove her knee upward into his gut. The butcher made one last attempt to grab at her, when he was suddenly yanked backward and onto the ground. Lyra stepped back as she looked at the third man who'd just arrived. In the butcher's place stood Thorin with a blank expression on his face.

"Leave," he barked at the other man who scrambled away from both of them, choking out something like 'dwarf lover' as he did. Thorin turned his eyes to Lyra. "Are you…"

"You know," she said hastily, the adrenaline of the moment and sudden appearance of the dwarf giving her the trembles, "this fight would have gone much easier, had I sword. Now I'll have to play with a sore hand." She took a moment to examine her swollen fingers and shake them out. The butcher was attempting to rise to his feet; she swiftly kicked him in the ribs and retrieving the bucket, dumped the slop onto his head. "Pardon me," she said to Thorin as she brushed past him. "I'll need to change clothes now. I need to wash the stench of _butcher_ off of me." He turned in a perplexed awe as she made for the back door of the Inn and disappeared inside.

Thorin waited until the butcher had managed to crawl out of the alley before untucking the fabric wrapped package from under his arm. She hadn't even noticed it in her haste to leave. Looking both ways down the alley, he rounded the corner to the front of the building and entered the Inn

"Where do I hear the bard?" he asked one of the barmaids who was bustling about the busy room.

"This way," she said and led him to an empty table in the dining area. "Be just a minute, can I get you something?"

"Ale, and something to eat," he requested taking his seat. The girl nodded once and moved away from him and was lost in the crowd. He'd never been to this inn before, but the last few days he could hear the commotion from his workshop in the forge. There was plenty of chatter about the bard, but it had been their first encounter that had intrigued him. And now this last one.

He'd been making his way to exchange the sword for these promised secrets when he'd hear yelling. Chancing a venture around the back of the Inn, he'd seen the man shove the woman into the wall. Expecting her to be assaulted, he vaulted the fence and quickly made his way over, but before he'd even reached them, she'd struck her first blows. Clearly this woman had hit a man before. The precision in her first placement was for maximum damage with minimal contact.

Trying to squelch how impressed he was, he felt it necessary to assist, if only to get the chance to hear those promised secret. But she didn't take the least bit of care in paying him attention this time. Unlike their first meeting when she was, daresay, drawn to him, she couldn't seem to get away from him fast enough this time. However he'd fulfilled his end of the bargain, now he would insist she keep hers.

Even if that meant waiting.

He ate absent mindedly, only vaguely aware of the room filling up around him. Since the woman had spoken to him, his thoughts had dwelt so intensely on Erebor, his chest hurt with yearning. It had been over a century now, nearly two, since he'd walked the halls of the underground kingdom but the every carving of the towers was so engrained in him he could recount them from memory. He'd been so young when the dragon had come, but that day haunted him. His skin still burned from the fires and the screams of his people lingered like a lullaby.

The pain of memory was heightened by his disappointment from the last weeks. He'd never abandoned his hope that his father was still alive and the rumors that he was wandering the wilds near Dunland had rekindled his search. Years beyond counting he had watched his people, the last of Durin's Folk and the Longbeards, struggle to survive in the Southern Blue Mountains. If he could only find his father, the heir of Erebor, they could launch a rebellion to retake their lands.

So if this witch, this woman, had any answers for him…he would wait.

Lyra quickly undressed in her room, her clothing smelling of the rotten food waste. Her cheeks were flushed and her hands were throbbing. Combat training or no, striking a hard jaw left her hand in pain. But the tingling wasn't anything compared to her rattled nerves. The fight with the butcher was enough, but with her luck, that _would_ be the moment Thorin happened upon her again.

The endless days of waiting for events to be set into motion had built such an intolerable level of anticipation, that the moment she'd seen him standing there, she felt a burst of panic and tension crash over her. Her nerves had claimed her and she'd practically run away from him.

The jolt of cold water as she washed her face was enough to bring her mind back around. Using the towel, she dried her face and took several deep breaths. She had to have faith. Faith that everything would happen as it needed. She'd managed to interject at the start of the story; surely she could continue to do so.

Raking her fingers through her hair, she couldn't help missing the luxury of hair products from her world. At the very least a curling iron. Her mother had been half Shawnee and passed on ruler-straight, dark hair. Not the least bit disappointed in her heritage, she'd still enjoyed the benefit of curling it. Now it hung limp over her shoulders. She could get used to not wearing makeup, her naturally dark lashes contrasted her light green eyes without the aid of mascara, but her complexion was far from flawless. Too many rainy days indoors, she'd begun to grow pale. Using an elastic band and bobby pins, she pinned her long hair up as best she could.

Lyra decided on comfort this evening over anything else, and wore a loose fitting dark blue top with puffed sleeves that she tucked into dark leather trousers. She wiped the mud off her boots and slipped them on, mentally thanking God she had thick socks to wear. As if bra's weren't uncomfortable enough, the bodice she wore over her blouse definitely ensured she didn't slouch. Although she had to admit, it was probably much better than any corset.

Retrieving her guitar from the bed, she left the room and bound down the staircase, through the hallway, and entered the main room of the alehouse. As she made her way toward the hearth, the full room began to applaud. Lyra smiled as Bildryman brought over one of the taller chairs he used at the bar for the hobbits knowing she liked to have a loftier view of the room. He handed her a pint of brewed cider and offered a toast to her.

"To the bard and the Prancing Pony!" he roared and the room raised their glasses. His tankard clashed with hers and they drank until their cups were dry. Laughing along with him, she handed over her glass as Bildryman left and wiped her hands dry on her pants.

As she took her seat she saw _him_ out of the corner of her eye. Sitting maybe three tables away from her, he was staring with that same blank expression he'd worn in the alley. She let her eyes linger on his a moment longer than usual to let him know he'd been seen. He shifted in his seat, clearly unsure of why she was gazing so attentively. The corner of her mouth turned upward before she turned her eyes back to the room and her fingers moved along the strings of her guitar.

 _We're a thousand miles from comfort, we have traveled land and sea  
But as long as you are with me, there's no place I'd rather be  
I would wait forever, exalted in the scene  
As long as I am with you, my heart continues to beat_

 _With every step we take, Kyoto to The Bay  
Strolling so casually  
We're different and the same, gave you another name  
Switch up the batteries_

 _If you gave me a chance I would take it  
It's a shot in the dark but I'll make it  
Know with all of your heart, you can't shame me  
When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be  
No, no, no, no place I'd rather be  
No, no, no, no place I'd rather be  
No, no, no, no place I'd rather be_

 _We staked out on a mission to find our inner peace  
Make it everlasting so nothing's incomplete  
It's easy being with you, sacred simplicity  
As long as we're together, there's no place I'd rather be_

 _With every step we take, Kyoto to The Bay  
Strolling so casually  
We're different and the same, gave you another name  
Switch up the batteries_

 _If you gave me a chance I would take it  
It's a shot in the dark but I'll make it  
Know with all of your heart, you can't shame me  
When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be  
No, no, no, no place I'd rather be  
No, no, no, no place I'd rather be  
No, no, no, no place I'd rather be_

 _When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be_

Thorin could understand why there was such a commotion about the bard. From the strangeness of her instrument, which looked like an oversized lute, her foreign songs that mentioned places and things he'd never heard of, to the tone of her voice, she was quite the sight; sometimes she sang clear as a bell, ringing sweetly and high, it often trilled and rolled to a husky purr. He'd heard many songs and versifiers in his long life, but he'd neither forget this performance nor the woman who had the entire room entranced.

"Enjoyin' the show, Dwarf?" The table rattled as a large, bald man occupied the seat across from him. Gripping the hilt of his sword under the table, he felt someone else standing closely behind him. Chancing a glance out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shine of metal. "What say we take this outside, _Oakenshield_."

"Excuse me, my friend, but you seem to be in my seat." The bald man turned as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Looking up, he glared at the gray man.

"Don't think so."

"Oh, _I_ do." The grip on his shoulder tightened and there was a popping noise. The intruder made a small whimper and stumbled to his feet.

"My-my mistake," he said and clamored for the door, his companion close behind him.

"That takes care of that, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Gandalf the Gray," the bearded man said taking a seat where the ruffian had previously been.

"I know who you are. You've had dealings with my father," Thorin replied, his heart still beating heavily in his chest. "What can I do for you, Wizard?" Clearly he wanted more than to simply come to his aid.

"It's what I can do for you, Thorin son of Thrain," Gandalf answered. Thorin sighed heavily. Did the whole village know who he was? "But first let's answer the questions of who those men were."

"Wouldn't be the first of their kind I've met on the road," he stated and took a drink of ale. "I don't exactly attract a warm welcome. Few of my kind do."

"Oh I'm afraid it's far worse than that," Gandalf said, his eyes full of compassion for his plight. "There's been a bounty placed on your head. A quite sizeable one. Every head hunter will be crawling from the sewers in search of you soon enough."

"A bounty? But why? How do you know this?"

"You came through Bree in search of your father, Thrain didn't you?" Silence was Thorin's only affirmative answer. "Did you not wonder why the rumors of his appearance were so detailed? After all these years, suddenly his exact location was known? No, I think it was an attempt to draw you out in the open. There are those who are committed to seeing the line of Durin end once and for all. I fear the time has come when they'll stop at nothing to achieve it."

"They'll be hard fought, I can assure you that," Thorin replied through gritted teeth, his hand grasping his sword again. It was then the bard began another song and he couldn't help looking over. Could she be the source of the rumors? A well planted lure to disarm his suspicion? "What is to be done, then? I suspect your arrival is more than just happenstance."

"I confess, it is not." At least he was honest. "It is time, Thorin, for you to reclaim the Lonely Mountain." His voice had gone quieter but more severe. "The dragon has sat long enough on the hoard of Erebor and occupied your homeland. Call upon the dwarven kings; they will aid you in your quest. They owe you that allegiance."

"Do you think I have not tried? They answer only to Thrain now that my grandfather is dead and he is nowhere to be found. Not in over a hundred years."

"Thrain is lost, Thorin. I know you would not speak it, but whether to sword or lunacy, your father is beyond our help now. You must put aside the role of 'son' and take your place as king. _You_ are the rightful heir and the command of hosts lies at your fingertips, if you would but call on them!" Gandalf was speaking quickly now, the passion in his voice evident.

"They'll need more than my word to rally behind. We've seen too many losses. It is not just Durin's Folk who would be risked. They've sworn oath's to the keeper of the King's Jewel. We'll need…"

"The Arkenstone." Both men turned and saw Lyra standing over them. "Mind if I join the conversation?"

…

It had been tough for her to keep her mind on playing and singing. Lyra hadn't anticipated Thorin would linger at the Inn after the display in the alley, but clearly he wasn't going anywhere now. Nearing the end of her fourth song, she saw through the crowd that two harsh looking men were harassing him. Before she could even think to help, she saw Gandalf intercede. Relief washed over her like aloe on sunburn. He'd finally returned and the needed conversation between them was at last happening!

With no other idea, she began playing a louder and livelier song to provide their secret conversation the concealment of surrounding noise. At one point Thorin had cast a hard stare at her, his eyes full of suspicion and anger. It made her nervous. Events were starting and she knew if she didn't have a measure of his trust, her only participation would be reading about the reclamation in the morning paper…so to speak.

When she was done playing, she bowed and waved for a respite. It was tough to maneuver through the crowd with seemingly everyone wanting her to stop and speak to them, but she finally made it to the table in time to hear what the two protagonists were discussing.

"…They've sworn oath's to the keeper of the King's Jewel. We'll need…"

"The Arkenstone," she finished and their eyes darted to her. She suddenly felt quite small under their gazes. Thankfully Gandalf broke the silence.

"Lyra," he said standing to greet her. "Good to see you again…I thought I told you to be _discreet_ ," he said leaning towards her and indicating the gathered crowd.

"If you're looking for an apology, Gandalf, I had one ready for you last week. You must have just missed it." Her sarcastic reply wasn't lost on him as she pulled a chair up to the table and they both sat.

"You two know each other, why am I not surprised," Thorin grumbled. "I'm starting to feel like the fox caught in a snare."

"It is no sinister plot that brings us to you, Thorin, but rather a call to arms. We're here to help you." Lyra was glad Gandalf had taken the lead as she was struggling to find words.

"There is no one who desires the Mountain more than I," Thorin confessed. The conflict within him was potent. She hadn't expected his voice to be so full of emotion; his hardened face looked gloomier than the storm clouds outside. "But as you say, there are enemies who desire my people slaughtered, gutted and wiped from the earth. My duty is to protect them at all costs. Would you have them risk foe and fire on a whim?"

"What if I could ensure you victory?" Lyra intentionally didn't look at Gandalf as she spoke up. Thorin looked to her quizzically. "I promised you answers," she continued. "I know you will regain Erebor before the year's end. The line of Durin will be restored to glory."

"You cannot possible be certain of this," he said nearly exasperated with the possibility of hope.

Her reply came quickly, despite Gandalf kicking her under the table, "I can be sure of it. I have seen it. I'm more than a bard. I have foreknowledge of this quest and I'm here to make sure you succeed." Thorin was slow to react. His eyes examined her face before slowly shifting to Gandalf.

"Yes, well," the wizard stuttered and cleared his throat. "Lyra, you see, is uh…telling the truth. She does have a particular… _understanding_ of things. Things that I believe are of great importance to you."

"You are no elf," Thorin declared returning his eyes to her. "How have you come by this magic?"

"How do any of us come by magic," Gandalf asked philosophically, but his question didn't satisfy Thorin who had fixed her with such a penetrating stare, that she felt heat creeping up her neck to her face.

"The only way to get you to trust me is to tell you the truth," she stated and she was sure her leg would bruise from the hard kicks Gandalf was giving her under the table. "I'm from a land beyond anywhere in Middle Earth. I was sent to you by the Blue Wizards in hopes of using the things I know to help you restore your lost kingdom. You might think you're alone, Thorin, but you have more support than you could possibly imagine." For a moment, the noise of the patrons around them was the only sound that passed between the three of them.

Thorin's eyes had fallen from hers and were fixated on the table in front of them. Gandalf snuck a glance at Lyra who returned it, both of them waiting for his response. The seconds stretched into several long minutes before the dwarf sighed, both in relief and encumbrance, his head lifting and his back going straighter. "What must I do?" he asked both of them.

"Make it known, only among a trusted few what you're planning. Call upon those whose allegiance will never be questioned. Request assistance from the seven houses," Gandalf advised.

"They won't come," Lyra continued, "but you will need their help before the end. Especially Dain. You'll need to make him understand. There are only few who will answer the call, twelve of your kin. But their loyalty can't be matched."

"A small host," Thorin said nodding, "but if we're being hunted, that may be to our benefit. That still doesn't answer the question of how we'll obtain the Arkenstone. We cannot summon the armies of the Great Halls without it."

"I have thought of that," Gandalf proclaimed. "What we need now more than armies, is a burglar. And I have just the one in mind."

Sooner than she'd wanted, she was pulled back to playing by the crowd. She'd offered the two men sympathetic looks as their conversation had been interrupted with requests. To her embarrassment, Lyra had to excuse herself, fearing the more attention drawn to the table, the more rumors would fly of a dwarf and a wizard meeting. Discretion was important to the start of their journey.

Despite playing, she kept her eyes on them hoping to catch a hint of what they were saying. Granted lip-reading wasn't her strong suit. She was barely into her second song when Thorin stood, bowed his head to Gandalf and left with only a quick glance back at her. She found herself wishing he had looked just a moment longer.

She couldn't keep the disappointment from her face as the evening dwindled and she made her way over to Gandalf who had waited patiently in the same seat for her return. Her cover as a bard had been too successful for her presence, she'd missed the rest of the planning.

"Well done, my dear," Gandalf said between puffs on his pipe. "I can't help but feel Bildryman got the better benefit of your stay."

"He's been kind to me," Lyra replied and thanked the young barmaid who delivered her beverage. "But don't tease me with civilities, what did you two plan?"

"My, my you are eager," he chuckled. She raised her eyebrows and folded her arms impatiently. "Thorin has agreed to our advice. He's sending word to his kinsman, Dwalin, to gather those brave and willing to make themselves ready. He rides now to a gathering of the seven kings. Upon his word, I'll set a meeting location where we will gather and begin our quest."

"I have an idea of where," Lyra offered and Gandalf let out a long puff of smoke with his laughter.

"No doubt my dear, but let me revel in this moment that, for the first, and quite possible _only_ time, I am way ahead of you.

It was late into the evening when she finally made her way back upstairs to her room. Gandalf had excused himself and gone to bed hours earlier, but Lyra had been enjoying the evening too much to sleep just yet.

The majority of the men and women who lingered into the early hours of the morning were a good source of gossip and entertainment. Now that she was set on her desired course, she finally allowed herself to relax. Bildryman was more than keen to keep her glass full and like any good guest, she was keen to see it emptied. Unable to stomach any more, her head swimming, she stumbled into her room and closed the door behind her.

The sun would be up in a few hours, but her room was pitch black. She'd left a candle burning but it must have gone out. As she moved toward the table to find it, she knocked into the chair, "son of a bitch!" she cursed and set her guitar down on the bed. Rummaging through the pocket of her bag she removed her lighter and clicked it on to light the candle on the nightstand. Something was off though, there was a pile of linens on the bed that weren't there before. She set the candle down and unwrapped the bundle.

There, laying on the burlap was a small hilted sword with a blade the length of her forearm. It was single edged and the hilt was bound in leather. She picked it up in her right hand and was surprised to feel how light it was. "I'll be damned…he made it," she muttered and gently touched the blade.

"We had an agreement, didn't we?" Lyra turned so quickly the sword slipped from her hand and she saw the shadow in the corner of the room move toward her. As he stepped into the candlelight, she didn't know whether to be relieved or more nervous that Thorin was approaching her.

"Didn't you ever learn not to sneak up on people who are holding swords?" she snapped and bent to pick up the fallen weapon. He beat her too it, however, his larger hand encircling the handle. They stood simultaneously and she met his eyes. "Gandalf said you left."

"I'm leaving at first light. I had to retrieve some things from the forge." Lyra nodded her understanding, his eyes not moving from hers. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Did you-"

"I should apologize for entering your room uninvited," he interrupted. "I wouldn't risk the impropriety unless…"

"Please, don't apologize. You're not the first man I've had in my room…that didn't sound the way I meant…"

"My father," he said in a low voice, "tell me what you know of him." There was an authority in the way he spoke that left her little room to protest.

"Not much," she admitted. "I can't tell you what happened to him. I don't know for certain."

"Can't?" he asked, his voice clearly reflecting his lack of patience.

"I don't know everything. I wish I had all the answers for you. I know what it's like to lose a father you love." She wasn't sure why she said that. How many years had it been since she'd spoken of her father? Ten? Probably more.

"So, he is dead then…" Lyra could only nod. He turned his back to her. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" He was angry and it radiated off him like heat. "How do I know you're not a spy? Your words could very well be the poison on the dagger in the dark, seeking to assassinate the sons of Durin!"

"Well I wouldn't be a very good spy if I was, would I?" she interjected, abruptly interrupting his rant. "And you clearly don't think I am, or you'd be pretty foolish." He turned then, his eyes red. "For giving a sword to someone you think means to kill you." Her voice had softened and she gestured to the blade he still held. Thorin looked down as though he'd completely forgotten he was holding it. Hesitating a moment, thinking her words through, he adjusted his grip so he could extend the blunt end to her.

"I have no fear in you having this," he retorted as she took it from him, "I doubt you know how it's used anyway." Lyra laughed so suddenly she covered her mouth with her hand.

"You're not wrong," she confessed smiling. Whether he'd meant it as a joke or not, it had caught her off guard and she could barely contain her laugh. Blame it on that last drink. "Still better to have one than not." Thorin was surprised by her laughter and couldn't help his own grin. She was right about one thing, she was a terrible assassin if she was one.

"What else can you tell me? Have you truly seen the end of the journey to the Mountain?"

"I know of one ending, but I imagine there are thousands of possibilities. Even as Gandalf explained, foreknowledge is a complicated thing. For all I know, things have changed already." She sat on the edge of the bed as Thorin moved to the window where moonlight was still streaming in.

"Then there is no certainty."

"Is anything ever certain?" she countered.

"Death."

"Is that the worst risk?" He turned to look at her again. The moonlight illuminated the left side of his face, the other half cast in shadow. Be it her imagination, but she swore she saw a single tear fall from his eye.

"No, on the contrary. Living has been a far greater one. Living in exile; shamed, disgraced and homeless. Watching my people dwindle and scatter like ash in the wind. Don't mistake me, I grieve not just the loss of my father, but my own folly. Had I known …I would have taken this quest sooner."

"It can be easy to think that, but have faith. Everything happens in its own time. If you had gone before, you wouldn't have a wizard at your side."

"Two sounds more likely," he said referring to her. "And now is the time?"

"Yes, now is the time."

 **P/s Rather Be, Acoustic version by Clean Bandit**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Posting a little earlier than I planned because of the holiday tomorrow. Thank you to the people who have reviewed, you make my day! Remember, the sooner I get 5 reviews, the sooner I post! I know it sounds petty…but oh well! Lol. I'll shamelessly ask for feedback.**

They'd been on the road three days now. Gandalf was leading her south on another one of his "errands". Lyra's mind frequently wandered back to that night in the upstairs room of the Prancing Pony. Her heart still ached when she remembered the look on Thorin's moon-soaked face after he'd heard his father was dead. His resolve was as chiseled as his jaw, but his eyes had held something quite different. Sozzled or not, she knew what a broken heart looked like.

Though he'd left her room only moments after their final words, his presence had lingered for hours. She'd lain in bed staring at the flame of the candle replaying the conversation.

 _My father…tell me what you know of him…_

"Gandalf," she asked from her seat next to him in the wagon. "Why didn't you tell Thorin about his father? I know you met him in Dol Guldur. I know you saw him die."

"Do you, now?"

"Don't be coy," she protested. "There's not enough room in this wagon for _two_ people who never give the full truth."

Gandalf laughed, "My dear I don't think there's room in all the Western lands for that!" Since they'd left at dawn, Lyra could hear the rush of water somewhere in the distance, but until that moment, when the road they were on took a sharp turn to the East, she'd been unable to see the source. Now as they crested a hill, she could see a wide river that was deep set into the valley floor. "We're very near where the rivers Mitheithel and Gwathlo meet."

"That's fascinating, but you're avoiding the question," she challenged. "You met Thrain when you were exploring the threat of Dol Guldur and he gave you a map of the Lonely Mountain, and the key to a hidden door."

"He did indeed give me those things," Gandalf finally answered. "Which is why we're headed South, to the city of Tharbad."

"Tharbad?" she asked perplexed. True, the book from the Blue Wizard had a map, but admittedly she hadn't studied the whole thing.

"It was once a great river port, long ago. Now it's all that remains of the Southern Road. It's not used, but by few, which makes it a wonderful location."

"For what?"

He looked down at her through thick eyebrows, "for keeping things hidden. Things we wouldn't want to fall into the wrong hands." Lyra smiled as she finally understood.

"Wow," she breathed as the city became visible in the distance. The river itself must have been five miles wide, and towering over it in fragmented ruins was the remains of what must have been a glorious bridge. "What happened?" she asked seeing the crumbling structure.

"Oh, you don't know?" he questioned. She rolled her eyes and he chuckled, "the Numenoreans marched against the forces of Sauron during the War of the Elves. They were victorious against insurmountable odds, but the city was devastated. I suppose all the survivors moved on, the city was left practically vacant."

"So much destruction, it makes you feel a little sad, doesn't it?" He didn't answer her question but she knew he agreed. The two of them had formed a fast bond over the last few days. It was easy conversation with Gandalf. He seemed to understand the delicate balance between asking questions and not giving full answers.

Despite her fondness of Bree and Bildryman, Lyra was happy to be on the move. The suspense of waiting had been murder and finally setting course was a relief. Obviously, there were large gaps in her knowledge of all the comings and goings of the story, and this trip was one. True she'd read all the books available, nearly memorized the one in her pack, but she barely remembered the city name. So many things were different than she had imagined…

Gandalf expertly navigated his way down the hill and into the city. They passed through what must have been the front gate at one time, but instead the archway was bare of doors and the pillars were covered in moss. Presumably had the city been thriving, they would have been kept clean.

The main road was kept fairly clean of debris, but the towers and houses on either side looked impossible to enter. Overhead were arcs of gray stone and columns like trellises. Long lengths of netted moss hung from them like cobwebs littered with dark flowers. Everything felt dank and wet, the mist of the fast-flowing river nearby gave the air a dense humidity like fog.

"Gandalf," she whispered as she saw movement above them. "Are you sure the city is vacant?" Her question was answered when a heavy thud landed in the back of the wagon. Lyra spun around and fumbled to draw her sword. Before she had time to aim, there was already an arrow pointed at her face.

"Take your time, I'll wait," the masculine voice said. Her eyes were wide and heart was racing as she dropped the blade and held her hands up in surrender. The figure that towered over her was well past six feet, clad in thin leather armor and a yellow cloak with a drawn hood.

"Brynmund, old friend. You're never shy on the theatrics, are you?" Gandalf cooed. Lyra looked at him in shock and then back to the man who withdrew his hood. A large pleasant smile was stretching from ear to ear. The man looked young, perhaps younger than Lyra, with dark blonde hair to his shoulders and the ghost of morning stubble on his face.

"You know I can never pass up on opportunity to surprise the Mithrandir," he said and tucked the arrow back into his quiver. He slid onto the bench between them; his tall frame was lean, but he managed to take up enough room to push her to the very edge of the seat. Gandalf snapped the reins and they continued. "And who's this?" he asked turning to Lyra, his brown eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Who are _you_?" Lyra countered slightly offended. Clearly a friend of the wizard, she was trying to shirk her embarrassment at being entirely unable to draw her own sword to defend herself.

"Brynmund son of Andmund, Captain of the Western Watch and Gatekeeper to the Southern Roads," he answered easily. "Your turn."

"Right I'm Lyric…daughter of Richard…." She trailed off and Brynmund laughed. Her hands tightened into fists. "So much for an uninhabited city."

"I believe I said _nearly_ vacant," Gandalf defended. "Captain Brynmund and his comrades are all that's left of the Western Watch, a dwindling faction of the Rangers. I take it you've…"

"Yes, I've heard of them!" Lyra looked at Brynmund more closely. "You must be one of the Dunedain!" That would explain his height. And good looks.

"My ancestors were, yes," he answered in a less teasing tone. "There are too few of us left now." She desperately wanted to ask about Aragorn, but knew that could open a can of worms best left untouched.

"What are you doing in this city?" she asked quickly.

"I think you're mistaken, my lady, as gatekeeper I'm supposed to ask _you_ that question." He emphasized his point with a wink and Lyra resisted an eyeroll.

"I've come to collect a few things," Gandalf answered for her. "I trust you've stood guard over them?" The wagon came to a stop at what must have been the city center. There was a tall cylindrical stone structure in the center of a courtyard. It stretched nearly a hundred feet tall and was the centerpiece of a pentagonal bridged pathway above. Each bridge connected to the outer wall of the city like a spider web.

"Of course," Brynmund said hopping over the side of the wagon and extending a hand to Lyra. She contemplated snubbing him on stubborn principle, but several days in the wagon and the constriction of her skirt made the jump seem difficult. She took his hand and he helped her down by the waist. As she stood flat on her feet next to him, his full height became obvious. Never passing 5'8 herself, he was probably a foot taller than her. "My lady," he said again, his smile returned as he looked down at her.

"Thank you," she muttered as she moved away from him. The stone ground was dry, but tall grass was growing between the cracks. She walked around the front of the wagon and pat the horse's side as she made her way toward the pillory. Around the bottom of the column was what used to be a fountain with stone swans carved into the marble.

"This city used to be quite the sight," Brynmund said behind her. "Trade routes from all over the south used to come through here."

"I imagine," she replied and waited for Gandalf to join her. "Now it's just you?" she asked as he approached her. She stood her ground as he leaned over her and rest a hand on one of the stone swans.

"Not exactly." The carving gave way and pressed into the column like a button. The sound of scraping echoed below her and the floor of the fountain began to descend and form into a staircase. When it halted, Brynmund stepped over the side and Gandalf followed. He looked back at Lyra and nodded for her to follow.

The staircase winded downward for at least thirty feet before halting. To her surprise, after walking through a wooden doorway, an entire underground bunker opened before her. The ceiling was curved like a crescent and every ten feet were sandstone pillars on either side. The ground was made of wooden planks than creaked under foot. Brynmund lit a lantern and led the way.

"What is this?" Lyra asked as she caught up to Gandalf.

"The last of the Western Outposts. I trust you can keep a secret," he teased. The hallway opened into a large room with several long tables lined side by side. There were oil lamps hanging like chandeliers from the low ceiling and nearly two dozen men bustled about. Some were sitting and eating, others were huddled around talking. There were doorways with plunging staircases on all three sides. The light bounced off the walls and the room shone with a golden light. They yellow capes the men wore only accented the effect.

"On deck!" someone yelled and all the guards stood at attention. Brynmund waved a hand and they all saluted and returned to their previous occupation.

"Where have you traveled from, Mithrandir?" he asked as he led them farther into the room. They entered the hallway to the right and Lyra noticed the guard from the door was following behind them now. The walls were close together, if she reached her arms out in either direction, she was sure she could touch both walls simultaneously.

"Three days ago, we were in the village of Bree. We'll need to be on the road to Hobbiton by the weeks end."

"What spurs this haste?" Brynmund enquired. Finally, the hallway split and they forked to the right where they stopped at a stone door. Removing a key from his pocket, Brynmund unlocked the door and held it open for them. Lyra intentionally didn't meet his eyes as she passed him.

"We've business in the Shire, nothing to raise alarm," Gandalf said in his lively tone of voice. Clearly, he was trying to evade giving any details. This room was square shaped with four massive brick pilasters in each corner. The far wall was comprised of three large bookcases packed to the hilt with scrolls, leather bound books, and parchment maps. A stone table sat center room with eight chairs around it.

"I see," Brynmund said and pulled a chair out for Lyra to sit in. She took and he sat across from her. Gandalf occupied the seat to her left. "You've come a long way to retrieve these items just to turn around and head back the way you came. I could have sent them with a rider."

"I would not risk them on the open road without personally escorting them," Gandalf replied and folded his hands on the table.

"That important, are they?" It was a question that didn't require answer. There was a hard knock on the door before it opened. A guard entered and placed a large wooden tray on the table. He set out three glasses of wine and left the platter of dried fruits and meats in front of them. "Please, eat," Brynmund said standing and walking to the cabinet behind him.

Instead of eating, Lyra went straight into her cup. The dark wine was dry and bitter. She was thankful she didn't cough on it as it burned her throat. Brynmund returned to the table with a wooden box that had a swan carved into the top. He pressed the latch, lifted the lid and removed a cloth bundle. He set it in front of Gandalf who carefully unwrapped it.

Lyra had assumed correctly, inside was the map of the Lonely Mountain and a thick metal key with runes inlaid. What made her breath catch in her throat was the black hilted blade that seemed to absorb the light around it. The cold metal of the blade looked like it was fragmented ice shards compressed together.

"Is that a morgul blade?" she asked and felt the room suddenly growing colder.

"That's not possible," Brynmund stated, his voice taking a hard turn. Gandalf fixed him with a stare that challenged his statement. "Those blades were destroyed."

"They cannot be destroyed by any magic we know of. No, this blade was buried deep in the earth with its master and sealed with powerful enchantments."

"Yet here it lies. Your enchantments failed," Brynmund countered.

"Failed? So it would seem…" Gandalf grew quiet and Lyra could tell he didn't want to discuss it any further. He had fallen into deep thought, no doubt trying to compile the information he'd procured over the last few weeks to try and work out an answer.

"Captain," Lyra said before the blonde could ask any more questions. "It's been a long trip, I hate to be a bother, but is there somewhere we could uh…freshen up?" How the hell did you ask to use someone's bathroom in Middle Earth?

"Of course, yes," he said hurriedly. "We've not much for hospitality. We house soldiers, not guests, but I've a few rooms to spare and water for a bath."

"You'll hear no complaints from me," Lyra said smiling. The three of them stood, the contents of the table were discreetly folded into Gandalf's cloak and he cast her a smile of appreciation.

The maze of underground hallways with their dim lighting and dirt walls made Lyra feel like she was winding through an ant hill. She was glad to find that when she was shown to a room it was neatly structured with paved floors, an old but clean rug, a cot and a writing table.

"We've only a public bathhouse, no women serve in our company, but if you're patient I'll have some men bring in a washbasin for you," Brynmund offered.

"Please don't go through any trouble for me. I served my time in military and learned not to be bashful." Brynmund's eyebrows were nearly lost in his hairline he raised them so high. "Where I'm from, the men and women serve alongside one another."

"Where you're from? Is that far away?" he asked crossing his arms.

"Yes, very."

"And you fought in wars, have you?"

"Only one, but that was enough."

"Did they use _swords_ in this war?" He was taunting her now and she knew it. She was obviously all thumbs with the foreign weaponry. Too bad she'd never taking fencing in school.

"I think we've had enough talk of wars for one day. We're quite tired and I think we should leave the lady to settle in. Could you show me where I'm sleeping tonight, Captain?"

"Certainly Mithrandir, you're just down the hall. Rest assured my lady, it's less trouble to bring a bath to you where you are assured privacy than it would be to keep the men from…"

"I get the picture," she interrupted and held up a hand. "I'm grateful for whatever you can provide." He bowed his head and let Gandalf leave the room first.

On his way out Brynmund cast one last wink over his shoulder as he said, "anything you desire, my lady," and closed the door behind him.

She'd barely spent ten minutes in the room when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," she called. The door flung open and two men, both much older than her, entered.

"My lady," the first man said and set her large backpack and guitar case on the bed. The second man set a tray of food down and a decanter of wine. They stepped to the side as two other men entered with a metal tub that looked like a glorified horse trough. They set it at the foot of the bed and had to move out of the way as another man, younger than the others, entered with a bucket of hot water. He poured it in, stepped outside, returned with another bucket and repeated the action.

"Thank you," she said smiling. An awkward moment of silence passed as her eyes passed over the five men who were staring at her. "I think I have everything I need…" her statement didn't seem to faze them.

"Alright, enough gawking!" the loud voice from the door startled them and the five men filed quickly out of the room. "You'll have to excuse them," Brynmund said from the doorway. "For some of them it's been more than a decade since they've seen a woman. Especially one so handsome to look on."

"Well as I'm the only one, I don't see much competition to compare to," Lyra deflected as she began rummaging through her bag.

"My lady, we could host a hundred women and none would rival you." Looking up from her bag, she saw his eyes had fallen to the floor instead of meeting hers.

"You're being charming, Captain Brynmund," she said and he smiled at her. "I'm still new to these parts, so forgive me if I'm not familiar with how to receive a compliment…where I'm from we just say thank you."

"Can I make a request of you?"

"You may."

"I had noticed your peculiar things. In particular, the musical instrument…Gandalf was eager to boast of your talents…" Lyra gathered what his question was going to be and opened her mouth to speak, but the Captain cut her off. "Please, my lady…" his voice sounded almost pleading. "My men…our watch ended nearly a hundred years ago, most of the Western Rangers disbanded or rode North. There are those of us who have endured…father to son for generations. We don't look it, but my men have given up everything in service. A respite, a song from a beautiful woman, could sustain a man for many years. They've no wives or daughters to think on. Would you grant me this boon? Would you honor us?"

"Captain Brynmund," Lyra said feeling her chest tighten with his words, "the honor would be mine." The brilliant smile returned to his face and his posture became more upright.

"Thank you, my lady. We all gather for an evening meal together before night patrols. I've some business to attend, would you permit me to escort you?"

"I feel that would be only natural, Captain."

"I'll leave you to wash then, my lady," he said bowing his head and making to close the door. "Unless you need my assistance?" She arced and eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips.

"I _think_ I can manage."

"Very good, my lady."

Lyra couldn't help but smile as the door closed behind him. She turned the lock on the door for good measure before undressing and slipping into the water. It was lukewarm by now, but she wasn't complaining. It felt glorious to stretch out in a tub and not bathe with a wet towel out of a bucket. God, why didn't she study engineering and learn how to install indoor plumbing.

Despite her joy of being on the move, she was starting to notice her stockpile of items from home were dwindling. The only upside of having spent several weeks motel hopping and sleeping in the bar was that she'd had a near full pack of toiletries. Now as she used the last of her shampoo, she hoped her disposable razor would stay sharp enough to last until they returned to Bree and she could visit more of the shops. Knowing Gandalf planned to pass through there again before the Shire, she made a mental list of items to look for.

 _God I hope they have deodorant in Middle Earth…._

I got my ticket for the long way 'round  
Two bottle 'a whiskey for the way  
And I sure would like some sweet company  
And I'm leaving tomorrow, wha-do-ya say?

When I'm gone  
When I'm gone  
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone  
You're gonna miss me by my hair  
You're gonna miss me everywhere, oh  
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone

I've got my ticket for the long way 'round  
The one with the prettiest of views  
It's got mountains, it's got rivers, it's got sights to give you shivers  
But it sure would be prettier with you

When I'm gone  
When I'm gone  
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone  
You're gonna miss me by my walk  
You're gonna miss me by my talk, oh  
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone

The full dining hall of men applauded. It was a sea of yellow cloaks that stood and offered one final salute by raising their glasses. She'd played the last few nights for them during dinner, and as the meal hour came to an end her fourth and final night, she felt a sadness overtake her.

One by one the men came to her and kissed her hand, "thank you m'lady," they said smiling, some presented cordial words of praise. "You'll be missed," another said and she did her best to smile. The looks on their faces, their posture and demeanor…it all brought back memories of her time in the military. One particular memory stood out to her…

It was her second tour, she'd returned as senior officer of her platoon. They were setting up base on the Arabian Peninsula when they'd taken fire.

" _Todd, get down!" Lyra screamed and sprint toward the man. He was disoriented among the fire. Red streaks lit up the night sky, the menacing crackle of shots firing from the opposite side of the water. Her body collided with his painfully as she tackled him to the ground. Sand sprayed into her face and she rolled, clinging to the front of his jacket, as they toppled down the slope to gain cover. "Howards!"_

" _Here Sergeant," the dark-skinned man said as he crawled toward her. He handed her the receiver end of the radio strapped to his back._

" _Bravo Base Camp, Bravo Base Camp…this is Sigma One, over!"_

" _We read you Sigma, go ahead, over."_

" _Taking heavy fire, we're pinned down. Can you lock onto our location? Over."_

" _Rodger Sigma, we see you. Over."_

" _We need air support, two clicks north northwest. Over."_

" _Light 'em up Sigma One, we're on the way. Over"_

 _Lyra handed the phone back to Howards and clicked the night scope onto the top of her rifle. Crawling on her stomach back up the dune, she used her night vision to peer through the lens. The green light shone straight across the water and onto the cargo bins of the enemy camp. It felt like only seconds later, fire rained down from the sky and the far bank exploded. She slid back down the dune toward her men._

" _Sergeant?"_

 _In the light provided by the fires, she could see her men gathered around the body that lay motionless on the ground. "Todd. No…." she breathed and rolled him over. His eyes were wide open, a look of fear eternally plastered on his face. His chest was torn open from bullet entry points and the blood poured onto the sand. She'd been too late. He was dead._

That was the first man in her platoon she'd lost. And they'd have the nerve to award her the bronze star for that mission. Apparently, an enemy supply line was worth a life. Over the next six months she'd lose three more men before being transferred companies. That unit suffered thirty-three percent casualties in their fourteen-month deployment.

"Your thoughts take you far away," Brynmund's voice brought her back to reality. She smiled at him and tried to push the thoughts away. The hall had mostly emptied, only a few of the juniors remained to clean the mess from the meal. "You played very well," he said as she stood and rehoused her guitar in its case. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for the service you've provided."

"It was the least I could do, Captain. You've made Gandalf and I feel very comfortable. Not to mention the time we've spent training."

"Well if you're going to carry a sword, my lady, I figured it helpful for you to know which end to stab with." She glared at him and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Only three days training, that's probably all I've learned, but I'm grateful nonetheless." He was walking her back toward her room now. Gandalf having excused himself earlier claiming he had letters to read. "Captain," she asked when she reached her door. "I don't want this to sound rude, but…why do you and your men linger here? I know you fear an uprising in the south, but what about the rest of the lands? Orc's are swarming the northern borders."

"I've stood watch at this post for nay fifty years…" he said standing in front of her in the doorway. "We're the last contingent. If we abandon our post, even if it is to join the northern wars… we have lost the legacy of those who have died to preserve us. I cannot so easily forfeit their sacrifice."

"Believe it or not, I can understand that. I know you think it absurd that I've been to war, but I have. When I volunteered to return to the front a third time I was denied. I've never quite gotten over that. The same men I served with all got called back to duty, and I had to stay home and watch them leave without me. Even now, the war is over…I still can't help but think I let them down."

"I trust your words, my lady. I can see in your eyes the weight of that burden. I am sorry for what you've endured. You're very brave, to volunteer for war…especially as you couldn't swing a sword until three days ago." Lyra laughed and tucked her guitar over her shoulder.

"If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times we don't use swords where I'm…" she stopped her sentence short as he stepped closer, her eyes at his chest level. "Um…."

"My lady, you've brought a light to these dreary halls, the likes of which haven't been seen in years. I thank you." He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. "I know you depart in the morning. I hope one day we will meet again. If you're ever in need of my services, know that I am at your call."

"You're an honorable man, Captain Brynmund. Here," she said and unclasped one of her earrings. It was a simple silver loop with a fake pearl, hardly worth the ten dollars she'd spent at the mall, but she didn't have many tokens to spare. "A promise to meet again one day." She placed it in his palm and his smile faltered a moment at the kind gesture, "just don't read too much into it...you're way too old for me, Dunedain."

"Aye," he said laughing. "I'll cherish this, and your memory my lady. Good night and farewell." She did her best to ignore the sad look on his face as he turned and left her. She didn't envy his burden, but she knew how it felt. When she'd served, she'd had the memory of her husband at home to hold onto. These men…had only each other. Being alone was a pain all its own.

Before settling in, she made sure her things were packed and by the door. Laying on the cot, she tried to settle her mind, but thoughts of her time in war were rampant. And with that, to her dismay, thoughts of her ex-husband came with them.

Her head swam with emotion.

It felt like she had barely closed her eyes when a light filled the room. She groaned through her eyelids and tried to shield her eyes. "Brynmund I swear to God…" she muttered and sat up. She shielded her eyes as she opened them, but instead of the warm glow of the oil lamps, the light appeared nearly white. It dimmed in potency as it appeared to move from the room.

Rubbing her eyes, she slipped from her sleeping bag and quickly put on her boots before poking her head out the doorway. At the very end of the hall she could see the silver light, almost like a wall, at the far end. It was shapeless, but moved like water over stone.

As she drew closer she could hear humming. It was so faint she could barely distinguish it over her own breathing. "Wait!" she called as the light moved away from her. She turned the corner and it was already at the end of the staircase. It was moving so quickly she had to run after it. Only vaguely in the corner of her mind did she realize this was foolish. Her curiosity propelled her and soon she was sprinting.

Soon they were outside and under a canopy of thick clouds. The darkness of the night around her was chilling and contrasted the stark white of the light. It darted down an alley, under a trellis and through the ruins of a crumbled house before she caught up to it at the top of a long staircase. It paused at the far end of the terrace that stood against the crevice of a rock face. A gentle waterfall trickled over the rock and was collected into a pool with a knee-high barricade of smooth marble encircling it.

Lyra's breathing was heavy and cast vapors in the cold night. She took a step toward it but stopped as it began to take shape. It twisted and turned, swirling like smoke, until the mist became the silken form of a dress clad woman. Her eyes were wide as the silhouette finally stood in front of her.

"Galadriel," she breathed. The golden-haired woman, with a crown of white jewels, was smiling with her hands extended to Lyra who was too hypnotized to move. While the brightness of the light had lessened, the elven queen emitted a glow so pure, everything around them seemed murky.

"Come, Lyric," Galadriel spoke in a voice so rich and full, that it felt like the air around her vibrated. Stepping forward, Lyra could feel the cold of the night growing warmer simply by drawing closer. "I have seen many travelers, from lands beyond the Sundering Sea," she began, her sapphire eyes full of mischief, "yet no ship brought you hence."

Lyra couldn't tell if her voice was penetrating her ears or her mind. Her words entered her so deeply she could feel the reverberations in her chest. "Not exactly," Lyra said and was ashamed of her own creaking voice.

Until that moment, Galadriel had remained perfectly still, as though she weren't even breathing, but now she turned and stepped to the pool where the falling water was collected. She sat gracefully on the edge. Beckoning with her eyes, Lyra joined her and sat next to the Lady, their postures open.

"You have passed through light," Galadriel continued and placed her hand in the water, "through air…" she lifted a cupped hand and the water dripped through her fingers, "…and through time…" the water that fell from her hand began to glow with that same silver light and Lyra watched as the ripples began to conjure images.

The first was the image of herself sitting on the stage at Engel's playing guitar. She couldn't hear, but she could tell by the movement of her mouth she was singing. It shifted and she saw Short Hank sitting at the bar watching her. Like a film reel, it replayed the conversation between the two of them at a heightened speed and slowed only when Hank quite literally vanished from his seat and left the book sitting on the counter. She watched herself pick it up and as she opened the cover, a flash of light disrupted the water and the picture changed.

As the water settled, she saw herself standing in The Two Blues gazing into the basin. Watching herself in third person, it was only from her out of body perspective that she saw the runes that were carved around the cusp began to glow. At the time in the shop, she'd been so fixated on looking into the water, she hadn't noticed that happen. As the runes grew brighter and brighter, there was a second flash and the image of her body was pulled into the water and disappeared. Again, the light faded and she saw herself lying in the field she had woken up in almost a month ago now. The last thing she saw was her running down a hill toward Gandalf's wagon. The water became clear again.

Lyra looked up at Galadriel and saw the White Lady had been watching her. "You have many questions, Harbinger," Galadriel spoke for her. "You are not the first to travel across lands in this way. The power that brought you here is old, as ancient as the foundations of the Valar. Eru Illuvatar, the Father of All, first called the world into being in this way…

 _You know of what I speak_ …her words echoed in Lyra's mind.

"The song," Lyra confirmed. "I heard it in the water. Was that Illuvatar?"

"No one living has heard the voice of Illuvatar, but the echo of The Great Song can be heard by those who have been chosen."

"The Great Song?" her question sounded meek, but Galadriel's eyes were patient and her presence was calming.

"In the depths of time before the beginning of the world, the Ainur sang in one harmony, their voices shaping all that we know. Their creation knit together all life like a great tapestry. You are but one strand woven into the masterpiece of The Great Song."

"Me? That thought is overwhelming," Lyra admitted. Galadriel's smile grew larger and to Lyra's surprise, she placed a hand over hers. Her skin was soft as a feather and her warm touch gave her a burst of energy.

"No life is insignificant," Galadriel soothed. "Often extraordinary things are asked of those who do not feel worthy. All that you must do is be willing."

"I'm willing," Lyra agreed and suddenly felt the weight of responsibility envelop her. As Gandalf had stated when she first met him, she had been drafted into the adventure, but now she was enlisting.

Galadriel must have sensed her fear because she lifted her hand and tucked a strand of Lyra's hair behind her ear. The motherly gesture soothed her nerves. "Cin ú- eriol…" _you are not alone_. "Mín govannon ad, Iel o Ainur"

 _We will meet again._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Guys, you freaking rock! 5 reviews in less than two days! Thanks so much! We're getting into movie territory here and I hate the copy and paste script, but there are a few lines too funny to exclude. If you find it's too much or getting annoying, please let me know. I have a TON of book crossover so I'm trying to include readers who have only seen the movies. Thanks again and as always, 5 reviews gets you a chapter early!**

Upon their departure of Tharbad, Captain Brynmund had provided them with two mares in exchange for the wagon and steed. It was hardly a fair exchange, but he had claimed they needed the wagon for supplies and their male breeding horse was growing old. Gandalf had humbly accepted.

"There's something you haven't told me," Gandalf said as he rode next to her. His darker horse was taller than her palomino one and seemed much better tempered.

"Is it that obvious?" Lyra asked as she avoided his eyes. They were nearly in Bree by the time he confronted her.

"You've never ridden a horse before have you?" he questioned and Lyra laughed.

"No…I've ridden…" In truth, she'd ridden twice in her life. Once, on a trail ride for a friend's bachelorette party. They'd paid a ridiculous sum of money to ride horses through a vineyard. Ten minutes in, she'd fallen off and sprained a wrist. Why they drank the wine _before_ riding was clearly an oversight on the vineyard's part.

Her first time riding a horse had been another story. She'd fallen in love with the white-maned beauty at first sight. She'd ridden that horse until her legs were shaking and she couldn't feel her backside anymore. But nothing beat the feel of the wind in her hair, her hands on the reins…the jolly circus tune and colored lights. Her mom had spent over five dollars in quarters to keep that plastic horse rocking, and her father had to shoo away several children at the front of the department store who wanted a turn. Because, damnit, it was her fourth birthday and no one was going to spoil it!

"Indeed," Gandalf said with a sideways glance. Lyra sighed. Her legs were cramping, her ass hurt, and she was sure her horse was trying to bite her every time she dismounted. The glories of riding off on a quest would have been much more comfortable in a car…

"…is that what you meant? You thought I was lying about riding a horse? I just didn't want Brynmund to have the satisfaction," she elaborated. The fair haired Captain was never shy with quips toward her.

"I could tell," Gandalf said laughing. "But if not the riding experience, what else could you be concealing from me?" Lyra shrugged because she knew if she opened her mouth, he'd know she was lying. "Are you not going to tell me of your meeting with the Lady Galadriel?"

"How do you know _everything_?" Lyra asked exasperated.

"Who do you think sent her word of you? A mysterious stranger from a different world turns up with foreknowledge of the Lonely Mountain and you think I wouldn't inform the White Counsel?"

"In truth, I thought it was a dream," Lyra admitted. The idea that Saruman knew of her gave her the chills, but she tried to remember he hadn't turned evil yet. Could that be prevented?

"Whether in dream or in person, your encounter was very real. Her Lady's magic is quite enchanting. I know of it because I too have spoken with her."

"Then maybe you can answer something for me," Lyra said and she could see the smoke from chimneys in the distance. They would be in Bree soon. "I don't know a lick of Elvish, but some of her words I could understand. I'm assuming it's magic. But she said something I can't get out of my mind."

"And what would that be?"

"When she said we would meet again, she called me ' _Iel o Ainur_ '. I had the impression it was more than just a nickname."

"Are you certain?" Gandalf asked and they met eyes. Lyra nodded. His eyes moved forward again and he seemed to think it over for a long while.

"Do you know what it means?" Lyra finally asked as they neared the southern gate of Bree.

"That's difficult to say. I know what the words are, yes…but what they _mean_ is a different story entirely. One I would greatly like to hear." He paused for a moment, considering her. " _Iel o Ainur_ means, 'daughter of Ainur'. The Ainur were the first beings created by Iluvatar the…"

"The Father of All, yes. Galadriel told me about him."

"Of course. Yes, they were the first beings and together, in song, they created all of Arda, including Middle Earth as we know it. It was from the greatest of them descended the Valar…and the Dark Lord. The lesser of the Ainur gave life to the Maiar."

"You?"

"Well…yes."

"So…she called me your daughter? No offense, but you don't look like my dad." She was only half joking.

"No, no, of course not," Gandalf said chuckling and dismounted. She followed suit as they led their horses into the familiar town. "But perhaps the Lady of Lothlorien feels you are in some way connected, or of the lineage. I daresay, having spent these last weeks in your company, it could very well be a piece of the puzzle to solving the mystery."

"I don't think I'm that complicated, Gandalf. And if I'm descended from Ainur, wouldn't I be from Arda?" It seemed the more answers she got, the more questions needed asking.

"My dear," he said pausing in the busy street to face her. "Have you not noticed…when you sing, there is something that changes in the people who hear you. I have tested this theory. I have both sat and heard you sing and spent evenings in my own company. Believe me when I tell you, there is a magic about you. Though small…it is extraordinary."

"I've been singing since I was a child. I've always loved music. It's just a hobby…a talent, maybe, but if there's magic it's not from me." Lyra had long believed in the power of music to give hope and healing. She'd seen it calm soldiers in warzones, give comfort to her father as he died of cancer. Her mom's last words had been a song she sang to her as a baby. But the power was in the music! At least, that's what she thought.

"How very unfortunate, Lyra, that you cannot see in yourself what others so clearly do. I will continue to help you find answers as I believe we've more to learn. I just hope you're ready to hear them when the time comes."

Before she could respond, they were approaching the stables of the Prancing Pony. Strange, but it almost felt like home now. After tying up their horses, they rounded the front and not a moment after entering, Lyra was picked up in a massive hug.

"You've returned!" Bildry exclaimed. Lyra laughed, though it was difficult to breathe in the tight embrace. "I'll have your room cleaned and cleared at once. Please, please say you'll stay a few evenings…. And perhaps, play a few songs?"

"I don't think I'm allowed to refuse," Lyra said smiling. In truth, she was hoping to have at least one quiet night to herself, but his hospitality was overwhelming and she knew she'd eventually be persuaded.

"Good, great! Excellent! Hold on one moment, I'll clean your room myself. And Gandalf, of course, we'll have room for you. And oh, no, I've forgotten until now when I just remembered. You have a letter!" Bildry rummaged behind the counter and retrieved it before handing it over.

"Who's it from?" Lyra asked quickly. "What does it say?"

"A moment, please my dear," he said tearing open the seal. His eyes scanned it and he smiled. "Good news, indeed." Before continuing he looked up at Bildryman who took the hint and ran off to clean their rooms. "It's from Thorin," he stated and pulled her to a more secluded corner. "He's received word from the Blue Mountains that several have agreed to join his quest. They'll look for a sign of a meeting location I am to designate. He is on his way back from the Ettenmoors where he's had a meeting with the heads of the great households."

"Does he say what their answers were?"

"No, he does not," Gandalf replied as he checked the letter over. "Which I can only take to mean…"

"They won't help," Lyra finished. "I knew they wouldn't, but hopefully Thorin listened to my advice and planted the seeds."

"Oh dear…" Gandalf said as he finished the letter. "I sent word while we were in Tharbad that we were to gather in the Shire, but I did not specify a day…yet here Thorin says that his clansmen will be arriving day after tomorrow!"

"We're running behind then. And we haven't recruited our burglar. Though we haven't spoken it out loud, you know we're both thinking of Bilbo Baggins, right?"

"Naturally my dear, just enough of the Took in him, I believe. But if we're to meet our burglar before our company arrives, we must leave tonight. This very moment."

"Gandalf, I don't know if I can handle another day in the saddle. We've ridden for two days without rest. Plus, I think you remember I needed to gather a few things?"

"That might work to our benefit, you see, I should probably speak to dear Mr. Baggins on my own, give him a chance to warm to the idea of an adventure. I can ride on tonight and you can leave tomorrow when you've rested and gathered supplies. But will you be alright traveling on your own? Can you find your way?"

"I'll talk to Bildryman. I'm pretty good with a map and there's more than one hobbit working in the kitchen, I'm sure I'll be alright," Lyra said and felt very excited that the journey was starting so soon.

"If you're certain. I'll mark the door with a rune you can't miss. Be careful passing through the Old Forest, stick to the main road into the Shire and you'll find your way to Hobbiton. Good luck," Gandalf said and placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment before leaving.

"Where's he off too?" Bildryman asked as he hurried back to the front.

"We'll just need the one room, it looks like Bildry," Lyra said and felt a sliver of fear at being left on her own after so long in Gandalf's company.

"The fickleness of wizards," he sighed. "You know if you don't want to bother taking your pack upstairs, I'd be more than happy to carry it for you…" Lyra reciprocated his sigh but couldn't help her smile. She tugged the strap off her shoulders and set it down in front of him.

"Thank you," she said and began opening her guitar case. "Seeing as I'm suddenly free…" she threw him a knowing look and his face reddened with embarrassment but he looked pleased.

"To the bard!" he called and Lyra made her way to the fireplace.

"You've got everything you need?" Lyra was strapping her sleeping bag to the bottom of her pack as Bildryman filled her doorway. She rubbed her eyes as she checked over her things. Despite her hesitation, the evening of playing had been incredibly enjoyable. Familiar faces filled the pub and before she knew it, the early light of dawn was creeping over the horizon.

With barely two hours of sleep, she'd been roused by one of the maids Bildry had sent to help her with her shopping. Lyra had discreetly hinted she needed women's items and the blushing man had agreed to speak with his niece who had escorted her to a dress shop where they sold a variety of soaps, creams, and undergarments.

The coin from playing the night before were scarce and she hadn't accepted any payment from Bildryman because of the room, so it had cost Lyra her last candy bar, her only lipstick, an anklet, and the laser pointer off her keychain in trade for two bars of soap, underclothing, a straight razor, and a small bottle of rose water. It wasn't much, but she was grateful.

"I think so," Lyra answered and shouldered her backpack. "I don't know when we'll meet again," she said looking up at the large man. "I don't know if we're going to pass this way on our journey."

"If you should, you're more than welcome," Bildry said, his large eyes full of tears. "I thank you for the music and laughter you've brought to this place. We don't oft get sunshine this early in the spring, but I say you've brought some with you." She extended her hand, but he wrapped her in a hug and kissed the top of her head. The fatherly gesture brought a lump to her throat and she had to push it away.

"If it's in my power, I promise to visit. You've been so kind to me. I don't think I'd have lasted this first month without you." He sniffled and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Aye, you take care of yourself young miss. The roads are a hard place these days. And mind Gandalf, he's a good man. He'll look after you." Lyra nodded, stood on her toes and kissed his cheek before exiting the room and making her way outside to the stable.

" _Horse_ ," she said trying not to glare at the blonde-mane'd animal. Brynmund had called her Buttercup, but after it had bit her shoulder, Lyra refused to acknowledge it by name. The horse whinnied and stomped its front hooves. "Stop that, or no oats!" When she had calmed, Lyra strapped her backpack and guitar to the saddle the way Gandalf had shown her. Her legs were still sore and she groaned as she mounted, but soon she was steering the horse out of the western gate of Bree and they were on the road to the Shire.

Sure enough, on the outskirts of the town, right where Bildryman had said it would be was a tall sign with carved arrows indicating the direction she needed. It wasn't a terribly long journey, accordingly she should be there by midday tomorrow if she stayed the course and rode through part of the night or rose very early the next day.

Smiling to herself, Lyra felt a strong confidence in herself that she was perfectly able to make the trip alone.

The road was wide and easy to follow, but the longer she rode the darker it got. The trees grew taller and the branches overhead began to weave together creating a canopy that cast the forest floor into shadow.

As the sun was getting ready to set, streaks of sunlight shone through the thick tree trunks and the wind rustled the branches. Having only slept a few hours the night before, her eyelids were growing heavy and without anyone to talk to except Horse (who was terrible company) she felt sleep begin to take her.

The road narrowed briefly before opening back up and a break in the trees revealed a river and a stone channel. Pulling the reins to stop, the sign at the edge of the water read _Brandywine Bridge_.

"Thank God," Lyra said and dismounted. She was determined to make it this far her first day. This was roughly a halfway-point and she was exhausted. There was a small clearing to the left of the bridge she chose to camp at. Tying Horse to a branch near the water so she could drink, Lyra unsaddled her and set up her sleeping bag.

With the little light that remained, Lyra spent twenty minutes gathering enough firewood for the night. Fortunately, a bad habit of smoking when she was stressed meant she had an open packet of lighters, one of which she'd already traded away, but the other three were nearly full.

She built up a small fire and ate out of the bag of food she'd packed from the Prancing Pony kitchens. Barely minutes after the sun had fully set, the forest around her came alive with creaks, groans, and caws.

Tucking herself tight against the tree at her back, she watched Horse for any signs she was alarmed. Animals had a way of knowing danger was close before any human could detect it. So she watched, and waited, and ate. Her chewing was getting slower, the fire was turning to coals, and her lids were so heavy she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. The air was thick and the sound of the flowing water was soothing…so soothing it lulled her to sleep before she noticed the roots of the tree were shifting and moving so they tightly wrapped around her arms and vines encircled her legs…

 _Lyra could hear her feet pounding on the ground before she could see anything. Her vision was blurry and the smoke around her was thick. It was hard to breath and her throat was burning. Directly above her there was an earth rattling roar and the sky was suddenly on fire._

 _The crash of houses crumbling around her spit ash and sparks so hot on her face she felt them burn her skin. Unseen people were screaming in terror and pain. Lyra tried to push through the dense air, but her limbs weren't working. She couldn't move. The screaming was louder and louder, her lungs were constricting and her skin was burning. The screaming was so close she felt like it was coming from her own body….it was._

"Wake, child!" Lyra's eyes snapped open. She tried to scramble to her feet, but her body was trapped. "Hold fast, easy now," a soothing voice said. When her senses came around, she saw a woman in a blue cloak with purple lilies braided into her corn-yellow hair kneeling in front of her. "You've fallen asleep at the base of a slumbering Huorn. You'll be free in a moment." The woman placed a hand on the trunk of the tree above her head and began to hum.

Her voice was sweet and light, like the flutter of a bird's wings. Her song was slow and smooth, almost as though she were soothing a scared child. To her surprise, the roots that were wrapped around her shoulders began to shift. The bark scratched her skin where her shirt had torn slightly, but in a moment, she was free.

"What is that?" Lyra asked, only too aware of how shrill her voice sounded, as she crawled out from under the tree.

"A Huorn, but don't be afraid, he won't hurt you so long as I am here." The woman stood, her green eyes shone like sunlight on leaves and her smile was easy.

"Who are you?" Lyra asked, her breathing becoming easier as her fear subsided.

"My name is Goldenberry. You're very fortunate I found you; I don't often travel this far north. I had a feeling someone needed help."

"You did? Is that part of your magic?" Lyra questioned in reference to obviously magical song.

"No," Goldenberry said easily as she stepped around Lyra toward Horse, who was perfectly content chewing on the reeds by the riverbank. "You were screaming quite loudly."

"Oh," Lyra said slightly embarrassed. "I was…having a nightmare I think…" her brain was foggy and she was having trouble remembering.

"An adverse effect of the forest I think," Goldenberry elaborated. "That Huorn was very angry. They don't like fire and they really don't like strangers. You haven't traveled this road before."

"No, this is my first time. I'm on my way to Hobbiton."

"You're sure to reach your destination, if you stay the course…but do not stray."

"I won't I'll keep to the road."

"Where you go, you are making a new road." Goldenberry was looking at her with a strong gaze. It was then Lyra realized who she was.

"You-you're the wife of Tom Bombadil! Daughter of the River-Woman!" Goldenberry gave a small laugh and she reached a hand to stroke the horse's nose that was nudging her shoulder.

"I am," she said smiling even brighter. "And you, Stranger, are going to be late if you don't set on your way." Lyra gawked for a moment. Her brain was still having a hard time catching up to her. Goldenberry stepped toward her and gave her cheek a little pat. Her thoughts came rushing back to her then and she noted the sun was directly overhead signaling it was nearly midday. Horse was already saddled and her bag was packed onto the back.

"How did you…but I thought," Lyra was struggling to find words. She was torn between staying and talking to this woman who held so many secrets behind her eyes and racing toward Hobbiton. According to Gandalf, the meeting was that night and she had nearly thirty miles to go.

"Go," Goldenberry urged, her smile never faltering. "You'll have no more troubles on your way. I'll see to that." Pausing only a moment, Lyra moved quickly to take her place in the saddle. Goldenberry leaned close and whispered something to Horse. "Ride swift, Stranger. And good luck." Lyra felt the urgency take her over and she kicked Horse into a sprint. Hooves clacked against stone as she crossed the bridge and Lyra chanced only one glance back at her campsite only to see Goldenberry had vanished.

Steeling her mind to her purpose, she tucked her body close to the horse and let her swift legs carry her quickly through the woods.

Thorin's foul mood had worsened to its peak in the last hour. He'd been on the move since that last evening in Bree when he'd confronted that woman…Lyra. Over the last few months he'd traveled nearly the length of the western roads and back again in search of his father, answers, an ally, an army, a company and now he was wandering the dusty roads of Hobbiton looking for a single door.

Having missed his route twice, he knew he was late. His only comfort was the assurance of his comrades. The woman had spoken true. He'd reached his old friend Balin who sent word to the most loyal of dwarves. It wasn't uncommon for those who remembered Erebor to huddle in doorways, meet in taverns, and whisper the unforgotten stories of better times over meals. Many had been willing, some had taken up the call, but the final list of those who ventured from their homes was exactly twelve. To his great pride, his two nephews had been the first to take up the mantle.

The young princes were still in adolescence. Kili, the youngest, was barely past maturity and his older brother, Fili was not far removed from him. They should be courting now. Caught up in the raptures of youth, but they were far to like their salty uncle who dreamt of only one thing: Home.

When that strange woman had first entered his corner forge something awoke in him he hadn't felt in a hundred years. Hope. The decades of humbled livings, pointless wandering, scraping and clawing for scraps to provide, watching his once proud people starved and shamed and turned away from cities like beggars and crooks, his hope had long ago turned to bitter anger. He'd all but given up when she'd walked out of the rain and, like a fireplace bellows on coal, she'd rekindled his hope of seeing Erebor again.

The Wizard's counsel had proven true. The signs of a time when the Lonely Mountain could be reclaimed were unfolding. It would take a fair bit of luck on their part, but he was certain of one thing, it was now or never.

 _Now is the time_

Her words had echoed through his mind a thousand times in the last days. Their meeting in the upstairs room had replayed over and over like a dream he couldn't wake from. He'd watched from the dark hallway as she'd sung and performed her strange music, a sort of ambient escape taking hold of the room. Like the cares of the world stopped at the door and nothing in the world could harm those who entered. Not rain and mud, battles and wounds, nor grief and hatred.

 _I wish I had all the answers for you_

How he loathed that she didn't, but the possibility in her watery eyes gave him courage to find them. Like the fateful day when he'd taken up an oaken limb to defend himself, he would always remember that night…the wizard's words and that woman's eyes…when he'd cast aside the cloak of anguish and claimed himself the true son of a reclaimed Erebor. By Mahal, he would see the mountain restored to Durin's sons, or he'd be buried in it.

Turning up a pathway and through an open wooden gate, he saw the old, but familiar, carvings in a round wooden door. Undoubtedly from Gandalf, these runes hadn't been used in ages. Not since the dwarves and hobbits had freely engaged in trade. The two races now scarcely met. The dwarves had shifted priorities in these last ages, keeping more to their mines and craft while hobbits seemed all too content to settle for tea and parties. They dwelt rarely in the world or involved themselves in things that mattered. All too content to let the rest of the world fight their battles and protect their homes. Like children hiding behind their mother's apron.

 _Hobbit…the burglar_ had _to be a hobbit…_ he thought as he pounded his fist on the door. Based on the mud that had accumulated on the doorway, he knew he was likely the last to arrive. The green door opened and gray filled the entranceway.

"Gandalf, I was beginning to doubt I would ever find this place. I lost my way twice," he said and stepped inside. Despite his annoyance, the smell of food warmed him considerably. "Well met!" he greeted Balin as he stepped farther into the cozy foyer. His aging friend was white haired and had a large nose that gave him a dignified look. As the former Keeper of Records in Erebor, his mind was as sharp as his sword.

"Welcome Thorin, we've all gathered," Balin said indicating the full dining room. Looking from face to face he was overcome with a sense of pride at the eleven other faces greeting him. Dwalin had previously served the King's Guard and, unlike his brother, had more of a head for battle than books.

The brothers Dori and Nori, with their young sibling Ori, were a welcome addition. Their parents, former Longbeard nobles, were lost in the dragon fire. He knew well how they hungered for revenge. Dori, being more of a matronly sort had done well in the Blue Mountains caring for his brothers and was well worthy of Thorin's respect.

Oin and Gloin were first cousins to Dwalin and Balin and as Durin's folk were welcome warriors among the company, even in spite of Oin's dwindling hearing.

He was surprised to see Bifur of Khazad-dum had come. The toymaker spoke no word of common tongue and was rumored to be touched in the head. His cousins, Bombur and Bofur were with him. Both miners and members of households in the Blue Mountains, he was not likely to consider refusing their swords.

Thorin's smile grew as he laid eyes on his nephews. Fili was a welcome sight. He'd grown taller since the last he'd seen him. With his fair hair, dark blue eyes, and coy smile, he looked near the twin of Thorin's fallen brother, Frerin whom he'd lost in the battle of Azanulbizar.

"Uncle," Kili said and placed a hand on his shoulder in greeting. "We're all with you." The youngest of the company, Kili proved to be the most eager. Thorin knew he was impatient to prove himself, but he couldn't bring himself to be harsh with him. Kili was so like Thorin in both manner and appearance he was often mistaken as his own son. And he was. The both of them. Since the death of his sister's husband, he'd taken them into his own household and trained them from birth.

If… _when_ they reclaimed Erebor, he'd name them his heirs and give them the proper titles they deserved. Admittedly, they had much growing up to do. But Thorin felt a sense of pride in their naivety. They had grown up loved and safe, spared the cruelties he'd faced when he was their age.

"And this," Gandalf said drawing his attention back to the foyer, "is our burglar. Bilbo Baggins." The Wizard stepped aside and Thorin nearly lost himself and laughed at the child-like man standing behind him.

Hobbits had a remarkable talent for growing older and yet never aging. Bilbo's round face, mop of curly reddish hair, sloping shoulders, short arms, thin legs and large feet were nearly comical. His brown eyes were round and bore little to no wrinkle, his nose was pink and pointed and the remains of a fluster were still on his cheeks.

"B-B-Burglar? I beg pardon; I've never stolen a thing in my life!" Bilbo stuttered. "Well, unless you count Bertie Worrywort's wooden lion, but we were only eleven and he'd never returned my set of tiddlywinks!"

"Have you done much fighting, Master Baggins?" Thorin asked as he handed over his cloak to Kili. "Gandalf boasted of your skills in his last letter. I imagine you've seen many a war…here in the _Shire_." The congregation burst into laughter; clearly their thoughts echoed Thorin's. They were as amused at the idea of this hobbit joining them as he was. The idea was only slightly more absurd than the notion that woman would be joining them. In fact, Thorin took a moment to look around to see if he could spot her. Among the sea of beards and bald heads he caught no sign of her and promptly ignored the fleeting feeling of disappointment.

"What does it matter if he's seen battle or not?" Gandalf challenged. "We don't need him to fight an army, we need someone small and discreet to enter the mountain. Smaug will know the scent of dwarves as well as he senses gold, but a hobbit may go undetected."

"I agree the hobbit is small," Thorin said stepping closer to Bilbo. "In fact, his insignificance makes it as though he weren't here at all…"

"There's no need to be rude." All eyes turned to the doorway. Gandalf had yet to close the round door, and from the moonlight they could see a woman... _that_ woman, standing there; her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, her white blouse was torn on the sleeve and her face was sweaty and dirty, but her eyes were glinting and the corner of her mouth angled upward as she looked from Gandalf to him. "After all, Mister Baggins is hosting us."

"Do I know you?" Bilbo asked as she stepped inside. Before she could answer, Gandalf was at her side.

"Lyra, my dear, I was beginning to worry and perhaps for good reason. You look as though you've had a rough journey." Gandalf took her cloak from her and passed it behind him to Thorin as though he were to hang it up. Reluctantly obliging, Thorin turned to the hook and draped the hood over it. He noticed the other dwarves gawking and pulling caps from their heads out of respect.

"It's nothing really," she said as Gandalf inspected the cut on her arm. "I had an unusual encounter with a tree, I'll tell you about it later. I am sorry I'm late. I rode all day without stopping but I'm afraid I got lost near the market. A Mister Proudfoot had to walk me here. He was kind enough to board my horse for the night."

"Lost on the road," Thorin said and her eyes returned to his. "If you lose your way in Hobbiton, how are you meant to find our way to Erebor?" His annoyance had returned and he wasn't in the habit of being silent when he was.

"I was only lost _once_ , Thorin," she said with hands on hips. "You've traveled the roads in the Old Forest a number of times and were lost _twice_." Several of the dwarves laughed and he felt his face grow hot.

"How did she know that," Dwalin asked in a whisper, but she clearly overheard.

"I know many things," Lyra said eyeing the crowd. "But what I don't know, is where I can find a comfortable chair and something to eat." You would have thought someone yelled fire, the company scrambled so quickly.

"Here, here," Kili called and took her hand to pull her farther into the room.

"Right this way, please," Bofur said dragging an arm chair across the floor.

"A glass of wine, M'lady," Dori offered extending the glass.

"Ale would be better," Lyra requested.

"I've got it!" Nori and Oin yelled at the same time.

"No, no, no, not the good china!" Bilbo cried and chased after the two dwarves who'd disappeared into the pantry.

"I don't like this," Thorin muttered to Gandalf. "She'll be a distraction," he said with contempt as he stared at Lyra who was smiling and politely taking the plate, cup, chair and blanket she was being offered by four sets of hands. He noticed as she sat there was a twig stuck in the back of her hair and for a moment he considered plucking it out.

"A distraction to _whom_ , Thorin?" Gandalf asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Thorin ignored him as he too moved into the dining room and Balin pulled up a chair for him next to Lyra. When they were served hot soup, ale and fruit the rest of them took their seats and set their eyes on him expectantly.

"What news?" Balin asked after the pipes were lit and they were all well into their second cup. "Did they all come?"

"They did," Thorin answered and set his spoon down. Just remembering the meeting made him lose his appetite.

" _What would you have us do, Thorin? March our people to their deaths?" Kusssit Broadbeam hollered over the rabble. The heads of the dwarf families were all gathered around a circular table and Thorin had long finished his plea for aid. They'd spent the next hour shouting and yelling protests, opinions, and arguments._

" _I would have you march, yes," Thorin answered and the table began to quiet. "But not to death, to victory."_

" _Oh and I suppose Smaug will just roll over and vacate the mountain with an apology and a curtsey?" Fithil Stiffbeard snapped._

" _The dragon hasn't been seen in half a century," Strosser Firebeard interjected. "Even dragons die of old age, how are we to know he's even still alive?"_

" _Why don't you knock on the front door and see if he answers," Basten Blacklock replied, his beady eyes glaring._

" _What you're asking is madness, Thorin," Glargeas Stonefoot tried to reason. "We've all felt the loss of Erebor this last century. None more than you," he defended when Thorin looked like he was about to argue. "All the wealth and splendor of the Longbeards and Durin's Sons brought down the glory of all the households, but we've survived. If we try to take back the mountain…we could lose all that we've worked for."_

" _Excuse me if I don't see the great losses_ you've _suffered," Thorin spat through gritted teeth. "None of you came to aid when we called."_

" _We stood proudly with you at the gates of Moria!" Ondruth Longbeard stated. "We'll stand with you again Thorin…but the power of that mountain can only be claimed by the one who holds the King's Jewel. We'll need some proof…"_

" _Oh, proof is it now?" Dain Ironfoot erupted. "Proof like when the Firebeards and Broadbeams wanted to drive out the dragons from Belegost? Or when the Blacklocks went to war with the first elves in Orocani? Proof, utter rubbish you mean! Since when did the great families not stand together? When did our own wealth become more important than honor?"_

" _We've taken oaths to always defend our own," Thorin stated placing a hand on Dain's shoulder. "From the time we claimed the seven rings of power, we swore these oaths. I ask you now to fulfill that promise and ride with me. In payment, we will all share the wealth of Erebor and regain the glory that was lost to us. Will you help me?"_

"They will not come," Thorin said with a heavy sigh. "As is our way, we cast a vote. In the end, we were divided. The judgement was that this quest belongs to us, and us alone. Should we recover the Arkenstone, they will rally and help us defend what is ours until such a time as the kingdom can be restored."

"What Kingdom?" Bilbo asked and their eyes shifted to the small hobbit in the corner. Lyra couldn't help smiling as she saw him. He was everything she had pictured from the hair on his feet to the buttons on his vest.

"Come and see, Bilbo," Gandalf said as he stood and pulled a parchment from his pocket. Bilbo set a candle on the table and Gandalf unfolded the paper and set it in front of Thorin and Lyra. Everyone leaned in to get a closer look. The smooth and aged ink lines perfectly illustrated mountain and city with the centerpiece featuring a pointed mountain with a red illustration of a dragon overhead. "Far to the east lies the Lonely Mountain, a single solitary peak that stands triumphant against the sky and holds the gates to the once great stronghold of Erebor. It is there that these brave dwarves were driven out by a terrible beast who wrought an even more terrible devastation."

"A beast?" Bilbo asked. He was peering over Lyra's shoulder to look at the map. "You mean…dragon?"

"Aye, an airborne firebreather with claws like razors, teeth like swords, and an unquenchable thirst for gold," Bofur elaborated.

"You-you can't possibly expect to kill a dragon," Bilbo said, his voice taking an unnaturally strained pitch.

"Dragon or no, the portents are clear," Balin spoke, "Ravens have been seen returning to the mountain. _When the Birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end_."

" _Will_ end, not it _has_ ended," Biblo argued. "I know what a dragon is. And-and-and armies have fought dragons and lost. There's only thirteen of you."

"True…and not thirteen of the cleverest or strongest," Balin had to agree. This insult caused an uproar and soon the table was arguing. Thorin sat back feeling the familiar sensation of defeat.

"Fourteen." The female voice was enough to silence them all.

"What?" Bilbo asked.

"I said, 'fourteen'. I'm going with you," Lyra clarified. They all looked from her to each other and to Thorin.

"Lass that's a kind offer, but we're not about to risk the life of a stranger," Balin stated.

"What about me?" Bilbo asked incredulously.

"Never mind that," Gandalf said coughing on his pipe smoke.

"You haven't told them?" Lyra asked looking between Gandalf and Thorin. "You're not swimming in people willing to help, let alone someone who knows the future."

"Thorin sent word that made mention of a beautiful woman gifted in song and foresight," Balin said slowly as he watched the interaction take place. "I take it that means you."

"Really?" Lyra asked looking at Thorin with raised eyebrows. "I didn't take you for someone generous with compliments."

"I said no such thing," Thorin contended in a mumble. "I believe I stated you were more skilled in music that fortune telling…"

"Well then I settle for beautiful," she claimed and Thorin's jaw clenched. He looked ready to argue but Fili cut him off.

"We're not vast in number, but all of us are ready to fight and die if needed…"

"Not all of us…" Bilbo chimed in but his voice was lost.

"…And with two wizards with us, we're certain of victory."

"I'm not a wizard," Lyra argued.

"Gandalf has probably killed hundreds of dragons!" Kili proclaimed

"Does she really know the future?" Ori asked. "Because I should like to know if I'll ever get married…"

"You daft idiot, she can see the future not make the impossible happen!" Dwalin yelled.

"Enough!" Thorin yelled standing and Lyra felt the gruff voice reverberate through her. "The point is, eyes are turning to Erebor. With rumor spreading that Smaug is dead, fortune hunters will certainly set their greed onto the hoards of the mountain. Will we stand by and let others claim what is rightfully ours?"

"Tell us Lass," Balin asked. "You claim to know the future, how are we to enter the mountain when the front gate has been sealed for nearly two hundred years?"

"There is a door," she answered. "A hidden door that will appear on the last light of Durin's day. For now, it remains locked."

"Locked? Then how are we-they to enter?" Bilbo asked. Everyone looked to her and she looked at Gandalf who carefully removed the metal key and set it on top of the map in front of Thorin.

"Your father gave this to me for safe keeping. One last heirloom of the kingdom to aid you in your quest. There are secrets on this map I have not the skill to uncover. But if we are clever, I believe the task I have in mind can be achieved…with the aid of an exceptional burglar." Bilbo visibly paled as everyone turned their eyes to him.

"I've agreed to do things your way," Thorin sighed. "Go on, hand him the contract."

"Oh no, oh no! You're not asking me to face a dragon to-to-to recover what, again? A jewel?" he protested as Dori handed him the paper. His eyes scanned it as he began to read, "out of pocket expenses, remuneration…funeral arrangements? I think I need to sit down…"

"You've been sitting long enough," Gandalf argued. "I was tasked with finding a burglar, and a burglar I have found. There is much more to this hobbit than meets the eye. I believe he will exceed expectations, even his own."

"A word, please, Gandalf," Bilbo said shortly. He moved to leave the room, hesitated, turned back and struggled to hand the long parchment to Lyra before he shuffled from the room and Gandalf followed. The table grew silent as they watched Lyra fold the contract back in place. To her surprise there was a free line just below Burglar that said, 'Consultant'.

"Anyone got a pen?"

Lyra was lounging with her back propped against her pack and her legs stretched in front of her. Despite several offers of a bed, a room, and a couch, she had settled herself on the floor near the doorway to the living room. The others were settling themselves in as well, the nearest to her was Fili and Dwalin.

Lyra was watching Gandalf and Bilbo speaking down the hall. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she knew the wizard was doing his best to convince him, and based on the calm but slightly panicked look on his face, Biblo was definitely considering it.

"I see we've lost our burglar," Balin said from the bench.

"I can't say I'm surprised," Thorin stated from his place by the fireplace. "He looks more suited as a grocer than a burglar."

"We'll see," Lyra chimed in and he looked over his shoulder at her, their eyes met and she held his gaze steadily.

"You're telling me that he leaves his books and his arm chair and his garden and ventures into the wild with us?" Dwalin asked incredulously.

"I'm not saying anything," Lyra stated illusively. "I'm just saying…we'll see."

"Well I'm not convinced. Three silver pieces says this is the last we see of him," Gloin alleged propping his feet up on the table.

"I'll take that bet," Lyra dared.

"I can't take money from a lass…"

"I'll give you five-to-one odds."

"Done!"

"I'll take that bet too!" Kili said to Gloin. In a moment, they were all discreetly swapping bids and coin eventually entrusting Dori with the final odds.

Lyra felt her eyes growing tired as she settled into her sleeping bag, the warmth of the hearth faring much more comfortable than her previous night wrapped in the limbs of an angry tree. Her thoughts drifted back to Goldenberry and her rescue. She'd need to find a time to tell Gandalf where they wouldn't be overheard.

"M'Lady?" Fili asked from next to her. "Was Gandalf true when he said you were bard? We'd all love to hear a song."

"Lyra, please," she offered and her eyes drifted from Fili to Thorin. "Tonight we should hear a song of Erebor and I'm afraid I don't know any. But I promise to repay in kind. If you have a song for me I'll gladly offer one in return." Fili also turned his eyes to Thorin with an expectant look.

Thorin was watching and listening. He could think of only one song that he'd sung many times to his nephews.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold  
To dungeons deep and caverns old  
We must away, ere break of day  
To find our long forgotten gold  
The pines were roaring on the height  
The winds were moaning in the night  
The fire was red, it flaming spread;  
The trees like torches blazed with light  
The wind was on the withered heath  
But in the forest stirred no leaf:  
There shadows lay be night or day  
And dark things silent crept beneath

The wind went on from West to East;  
All movement in the forest ceased  
But shrill and harsh across the marsh  
Its whistling voices were released  
Farewell we call to hearth and hall!  
Though wind may blow and rain may fall  
We must away ere break of day  
Far o'er the wood and mountain tall

The deep humming of the dwarvish voices echoed through the glowing halls of the hobbit hole. The weight of their longing settled deep within them and a resolute calm overtook them. Fili looked to Lyra, waiting to hear what song she would sing, but her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted and her breathing was steady. He moved to wake her when Thorin stopped him.

"Let her sleep," he protested. "We should all rest. We leave at dawn and we'll need our strength."

"So…she's coming then?" Balin asked, his eyebrows raised. Thorin didn't look at him but instead watched Lyra for a moment, a strange feeling churning in his stomach.

"Aye. She comes."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Sorry it's so late guys, thank you for the reviews! Hope everyone had a great 4** **th** **of July!**

"How should we wake her," someone's raspy voice whispered. Not yet familiar with the distinct voices, Lyra couldn't guess who it was, but the heavy-footed shuffling was enough to rouse her from sleep. Dwarves were not known for their stealth, and for good reason.

"What's that story about a dryad who'd fallen asleep and needed the kiss of a handsome prince to wake her?" Now _that_ she knew was Fili.

"Let me know when you find a _handsome_ one," Lyra said opening her eyes. She was slightly alarmed to see four faces peering down, one on all four sides of her. Fili, to her left was blushing furiously; Kili to her right was chuckling, Dori at her head was gaping, and Ori at her feet looked confused.

"Best be packing up, M'lady," Ori said softly. She nodded and rubbed her eyes before shimmying out of her sleeping bag. The others were already awake and retrieving their things, some whispering softly as she rolled her bag and buckled it to her pack. Retrieving a few items and a fresh shirt, she quietly stepped out of the room and into the small water closet where she washed her face, brushed her hair into a ponytail and put on a clean top. She'd found that if she tucked the front end of her floral blouse she'd been wearing when she arrived in Middle Earth, it could pass as blouse.

"I'm set," she said once she'd put her things away and shouldered her bag. "Where's Bilbo?" the others exchanged looks.

"He's not coming," Thorin said from the doorway. She'd wondered where he'd gone to and her question was answered as she could see the horses gathered on the path out front.

"Looks like you'll be paying on that bet, Miss," Gloin chided.

"Not so fast, we never set terms. I have until we cross the Bywater." He looked like he was going to argue, but Thorin's quip interrupted him.

"We've no time, let's get moving. I want to put this place behind us. We've already wasted enough time." Silently the crew moved from the house, careful to leave everything as it was. With discretion, Lyra was sure to leave the contract resting on the side of Bilbo's armchair where he was sure to see it. Stepping outside, she was surprised to see her horse was saddled and waiting among the others.

"That was kind of you," she said to Thorin whose dark maned horse was next to hers. He likewise was tightening the straps to the stirrups and tying his bedroll down.

"Just try to keep up. It's a long journey and we cannot be slowed down." He was avoiding her eyes, to her annoyance.

"I'm sorry they didn't come," Lyra said and he finally looked at her. She could see the tiredness in his eyes and the weariness he undoubtedly bore. "It's not right that they denied you their assistance. You'll prove them wrong in the end."

"I'd take each and every dwarf here over an army from the Iron Hills any day," he said and politely offered his hand to lift her into the saddle. Taking his own seat on his horse, he looked back over the line of men who were situating themselves. "Their loyalty is without question. They came knowing the odds were against us. That boasts of honor and a willing heart. I could never ask for more."

"They came for you," Lyra added. "The life you built for them in the Blue Mountains has been peaceful, but you've given them a hope to see Erebor again. I don't think _they_ could ask for more." He didn't respond but the corner of his mouth twitched upward briefly before he steered his horse around to take the lead.

"Move on," he called and they easily maneuvered into a single file line along the path; Thorin in the front With Dwalin and Lyra behind him, Gandalf in the middle with Balin and the brothers Bombur and Bofur in the rear.

Lyra took every moment to soak up Hobbiton as they passed through. The smooth, grass covered hills that so easily housed perfectly round doors, the picturesque picket fences covered in ivy and flowers, the weed free dirt roads and manicured gardens and the morning sun reflecting off the lake…it was like some sort of novelty resort and the hobbits, who barely passed five feet in height, were theatrical actors tasked with cheering everyone up. She couldn't imagine every feeling sad in a place like this.

All too soon the cozy surroundings fell behind them and the smell of morning fires gave way to sweeping fields, tall trees and open road. They were taking the Old Road that was farther to the north than the way she'd come. Any chance of seeing Goldenberry again was unlikely, but she was glad to avoid any unhappy huorns. And she was right to suspect they were avoiding Bree altogether. She could overhear Thorin and Dwalin talking of it. Based on his last experience there with the head hunters, he thought it a good idea to avoid towns unless necessary.

"Ridiculous notion to use a hobbit…" someone behind her said, "whose idea was it?" Turning in her saddle she saw Dori speaking to Nori.

"That'll be the Bywater!" Gloin hooted as he saw the river approaching. Lyra slowed Horse until she was next to Gandalf.

"You _did_ persuade him, didn't you?" she asked suddenly worried she was supposed to intervene. Gandalf only shrugged which did little to bolster her confidence. "Gandalf, we can't do this without…"

"Wait!" the voice was faint but unmistakable. "Wait for me, I'm coming!" Lyra started laughing as she saw the bright head bobbing down the hill to her right as Bilbo ran across the field. He was remarkably fast for someone with such short legs.

"You were saying, Master Dwarf?" she tossed back at Gloin who harrumphed in protest.

"Stop, please, wait for me," Bilbo pleaded as they all pulled tight on their reins. He was breathing heavily as he approached, the contract waving wildly in his hand. "I've signed the contract, I-I-I want to join your adventure…quest…I'll-I'll be your burglar." Thorin had fixed Gandalf with a hard stare; whether he was annoyed at the hobbit or the fact he was wrong was uncertain.

"It all looks in order," Balin said viewing the contract. "We've got ourselves a burglar!" A few of the dwarves cheered, probably more excited about the payout than the acquisition.

"I don't suppose you can ride a horse," Thorin chided, his terse tone made the hobbit blanch. Lyra narrowed her eyes at the dwarf, her scowl giving him a well-earned reproach. Thorin sighed, his face softening.

"Give him a pony," Thorin relented. The smaller animals were being used to carry the packs and gear, but a few had a free saddle. Biblo was apt to protest, but was hoisted into his seat by the two dwarves in the rear. "Happy?" Thorin asked Lyra.

"Very," she replied ignoring his sarcasm. Thorin stifled his rebuttal as he saw several of the dwarves tossing over their coin purses in payment on the bet.

"I _knew_ I shouldn't have gambled with a woman," Gloin muttered as he examined his now empty wallet. Thorin tugged the reins, turning his horse back around, his eyes fixed on Lyra who was laughing with Gandalf, Fili, Kili and Bofur who he suspected had sided with her in the wager.

"That'll teach you to make a bet with someone who knows the future," Thorin added and Gloin turned red faced and cursed something in Khuzdul. Thorin was still looking her way when her smiling eyes met his and unless he was mistaken, her smile widened. A muscle in his cheek twitched and before it grew into a matching expression, he dug his heels in and the horse trotted on.

The rest spurred their horses as well, the company now having a satisfactory sense of completion. Lyra could have hit her head on the stars she was so far above cloud nine.

As they crested the valley before descending into the northern forest, the magnitude of the task at hand began to rest. They were leaving behind the security of everything they'd known and risking their lives on the thread of faith. Lyra's thoughts traveled back to the two women who'd spoken into her since her arrival.

 _Often extraordinary things are asked of those who do not feel worthy. All that you must do is be willing._

 _Where you go, you are making a new road._

Galadriel had encouraged her to submit entirely to the quest. To be willing. Goldenberry had alluded that the journey was changing from what she knew. A new road. Looking behind her at Fili and Kili who were laughing about something between them she hoped the new road wasn't just paved with good intentions, but could genuinely affect change. They noticed her starring and whispered something that had them both laughing louder. She rolled her eyes in amusement and looked forward.

Her eyes settled on the leader of their company, Thorin. He sat proudly in the saddle his eyes fixed on the horizon as though he could already see the Lonely Mountain. She felt a tugging in her abdomen and found it hard to look away from his profile, the serious look on his face reflecting the sea of thoughts that washed through his mind. He glanced back at her once before they entered the tree line and she smiled softly. He acknowledged her with a nod before returning his eyes to the front, his posture slightly more upright.

They rode well past dark that first day. Between the glimmering full moon and the lanterns they hung from their horses, their convoy had a cozy feeling as the rode the midnight trail.

"You can't stay mad at me forever, Master Dwarf," Lyra beckoned to Gloin who was riding two horses ahead of her. He'd been casting scowls at her all day, the teasing and taunting from the other winners hardly did much to diffuse the situation. The road widened and they began walking in twos, Thorin and Gandalf at the head with the Gloin and Dori behind, Kili and Fili next, followed by Lyra and Balin with Dwalin and Bifur behind them with the others.

"A dwarf's life is considerably longer than a human's, M'lady, I promise to relent my grudge before I meet my end," he grumbled back to her.

"Suppose a large rock falls from the sky and your life ends tonight?" Lyra asked. Both Fili and Kili turned in their saddles and she winked with amusement. She urged Horse between them to catch up to Gloin who was looking overhead and crouching in his saddle. "Don't worry," she said catching up to him. "It's not likely."

"Oh, you're a wicked tease!" he griped, his face turning nearly purple with restrained curses. "It's not kind to jest about the future when-when you claim to know it already!"

"I'm sorry," she said laughing, "I only meant to ease the tension. Please, let's have some conversation. Tell me about your son, Gimli."

"How did you…"

"Let's also play a game," Lyra offered, this perked the ears of the two younger dwarves behind her. "Every time someone asks me how I know something, they have to take a swig of that flask Dwalin and Bifur are discreetly passing between them."

Thorin, who'd been listening from the front, turned and caught the two red-handed as they each held onto the flask between their horses.

"Come on gentlemen, didn't you learn to share?" Lyra asked and Bifur wiped the mouth of it before tossing it to her. She caught it easily and took a long drink. She coughed and held the back of her hand to her mouth as the burning alcohol stung her throat.

"I'd drink slowly," Thorin warned her. "Dwarven malt beer has been known to pull the rug from under the strongest of men. Someone your size might lose all their senses."

"Don't worry about me," Lyra said tossing the beverage to Fili, but it was intercepted by Kili who laughed loudly at his brother. "If I start to swoon, I'll try to fall toward you. That way you can catch me and say, 'I told you so' at the same time."

 _Wicked tease indeed_ , he thought as she fell farther behind to mingle with the other.

"Go on then, tell me about your son," Lyra goaded. Gloin, who'd found the permission to remove his own flask, finished a long drink before passing it over to her.

"Aye, he's a good lad and his mother is bonny. It'll be hard to be gone from them so long, but they're strong. I couldn't be prouder of my wee boy. I expect he'll do great things in his life."

"I'm certain he will, Gloin. I am _most_ certain he will." Gloin caught her meaning and his brown eyes sparkled with gratitude. "I am sorry you'll be gone from your family so long, but it'll be worth it in the end. Whether you're with him or not, you're teaching him to fight for what he believes in."

"What about you, m'lady?" Fili asked. "Have you left much family behind or did they travel with you across the sea?"

"No, no family," Lyra said shortly.

"No mother or father? Siblings?"

"My parents died years ago. I was an only child. My father used to say, 'we got it right the first time, no need to mess with perfection'. I'm afraid one fortune teller is all you're going to get."

"No husband?" Kili asked and Fili slapped him over the head. "What? It's a perfectly sensible question! If I was married, I'd be loath to send my wife off on a dangerous mission without me by her side."

"No husband," Lyra said forcing her voice to stay chipper, but a certain pair of blue eyes caught the extra-long drink of ale she took.

"I find that hard to believe a woman such as you has no husband. Not even a betrothed?" Gloin asked. Gandalf looked as though he were going to speak up, but Lyra answered for him.

"I had a husband…once. But he's not my husband anymore. We stopped being married when I went off to war the last time." A sort of solemn silence fell over the party. "Please, don't feel sorry for me. It's for the best."

"For the best he died? Was he ill?" Kili asked and Fili slapped him again.

"Will you shut up, you idiot," Fili barked.

"Where I'm from, Kili, husbands and wives can decide to stop being married if they want. It's a sad truth, but nearly half of the marriages where I'm from end before anyone dies," Lyra explained.

"Aye, we've seen that too," Gloin stated. "It's not common, but it happens. Marriage is a difficult thing and there are times the elders must intervene and it's found best for the couple to detach from one another."

"It's a disgraceful thing for a man to separate from his wife," Thorin declared. "Any man who is tasked with caring for a wife and family should honor home and hall above all else."

"You make marriage seem like nothing but a responsibility," Lyra noted. Strangely, she found herself rather eager to hear his opinions on the subject. A small part of her felt a twinge of shame at being divorced, but in the end, she would have been more ashamed if she had stayed married to a man who didn't love her.

"It is," Thorin replied.

"Spoke like someone who has never been married."

"Aye who does _that_ sound like?" Kili asked laughing.

"Had I known we were bringing our mother on the trip, I would have washed behind my ears!" Fili said and joined his brother in chuckling. Even Thorin had to admit he was reminded of his sister, Dis, when Lyra reproached him. He tried to meet her eyes but she was looking at the ground.

Thankfully the subject was dropped and Gloin returned to speaking of his son. Apparently, the boy had been full bearded since he was ten. This was clearly a great source of pride.

"We'll rest here for the night," Thorin said as they reached the clearing in the trees up ahead. He purposefully steered his horse next to Lyra's when they dismounted and tied their animals to tree limbs. The closeness of their horses gave them a moment to speak without behind overheard. "I did not mean to bring your honor into question," he said standing with his back to her as they began unsaddling their horses. "My admonishment was directed toward any man who could let himself lose the love of his wife. I fear I took an inopportune moment to impart a lesson to my nephews. I would never wish them to disavow any woman they were fortunate enough to marry."

"I didn't take any offence," she said facing him. He paused in his task to turn and face her as well. He was unhappy to see her smile hadn't returned and she wasn't holing his gaze. "My ex-husband could have benefited from your advice." She was trying to make a joke, but the smile wasn't reaching her eyes.

"The shame is on him then. I can't imagine you easily withdraw your love once it's been given." There, she finally met his eyes, her brows raised.

"Careful Thorin, that sounded like a compliment," she deflected and he felt a small sense of pride that for once he was the one to catch her off guard.

"Are you not able to accept one when it's given?"

"Do you need a hand, Lyra?" Kili asked interrupting them. She turned around quickly, her back facing them now.

"No, I'm almost done, thank you." She was grateful to have something to occupy her hands until the heat left her face.

"Great, we've got a pot of broth going. I think you owe us a song," Fili added.

"I think you're right," she said unstrapping her guitar from the saddle and leaning it against the base of the tree. As she undid the cinch, to her surprise, two strong arms reached around her and hoisted the saddle off. Thorin set it on the ground, grabbed her guitar case and handed it to her.

"Wouldn't want you to play with sore knuckles again."

 _Now who's the tease…_

The others made quick work of setting up camp. It was easy with sixteen sets of hands and everyone helping. Soon she was nestled in her sleeping bag between Bilbo and Gandalf.

"Go on then, play us a song!" Bofur encouraged. They'd all eaten a bowl off broth, some bread and passed around a few more flasks of ale when the pipes were lit.

Lyra picked up her guitar and wrapped the fabric strap over her shoulder. She tested a few notes and glanced over the fire in the center of their sleep circle where Thorin was leaning with his back against a rock, his feet stretched in front of him and a pipe in one hand. He was among the rest of the company that watched her expectantly, but for some reason his eyes were the only one's she met.

Feeling my way through the darkness  
Guided by a beating heart  
I can't tell where the journey will end  
But I know where to start  
They tell me I'm too young to understand  
They say I'm caught up in a dream  
Well life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes  
Well that's fine by me

So wake me up when it's all over  
When I'm wiser and I'm older  
All this time I was finding myself  
And I didn't know I was lost

So wake me up when it's all over  
When I'm wiser and I'm older  
All this time I was finding myself  
And I didn't know I was lost

I tried carrying the weight of the world  
But I only have two hands  
I hope I get the chance to travel the world  
And I don't have any plans  
I wish that I could stay forever this young  
Not afraid to close my eyes  
Life's a game made for everyone  
And love is a prize

So wake me up when it's all over  
When I'm wiser and I'm older  
All this time I was finding myself  
And I didn't know I was lost

So wake me up when it's all over  
When I'm wiser and I'm older  
All this time I was finding myself  
And I didn't know I was lost

I didn't know I was lost  
I didn't know I was lost  
I didn't know I was lost  
I didn't know I was lost

It was late into the night and Lyra was still tossing and turning. She wasn't as tired as the night before, and she'd made the mistake of not being the first to sleep. Now she had to endure the endless wheezes, grunts, snorts and snores of the dwarves. Not to mention she had a rock in her side.

Shifting her hips, she dug for the intruder, but instead of a rock she palmed the coin purse with her winnings. Knowing she wasn't likely to sleep, she slipped out of her sleeping bag and made her way back to the saddle where her pack was.

Lyra unzipped the side pocket knowing it was empty and made to stuff the coin purse inside, but instead of an empty pocket, she saw a purple cloth sack inside. Pulling it out, she felt something heavy inside. She opened the top and pulled out a black bowl. It was cold to the touch, like frozen metal, with gold runes carved around the outside. The inside of the bowl looked like raw geostone, with brilliant purple, blue and turquois crystals that had been filed and smoothed. The bowl wasn't large, it fit perfectly in her cupped hands, and had a ring around the base to help it stand upright.

Digging back into the bag she pulled out a black cylindrical stone that matched the outside of the bowl. At the very bottom of the sack was a purple lily.

 _Goldenberry_

"Gandalf," she whispered to the wizard who had stayed awake on watch. He was perched on a rock overlooking the huddled company and was still puffing on his pipe. Turning to look at her over his shoulder, she knew the moment he saw what was in her hands, because he stood suddenly and his pipe fell to the ground.

"Where did you get this?"

She quickly told him of her encounter in the woods are her way to Hobbiton, the huorn, the sleeping spell and how Goldenberry had rescued her and she'd had to leave quickly in order to make the meeting. "When I woke up, she had already packed the horse for me. I can't think of anyone else. She must have put these in my bag when I was asleep. Please tell me you know what they are. Some kind of…mortar and pestle?"

"Not quite," he said as she handed them to him. "I can't be certain, but if I'm right, you've been given a fine treasure indeed."

"Don't keep me in suspense, what are they?"

"This is a musical instrument, a very old one, called a resting bell. You hold it in one hand," he demonstrated, "and use the wand to strike it." He rapped the black stone on the side and it made an unpleasant clanking noise. "Well…something like that."

"Not that I'm not grateful…but what makes this gift so rare? It's beautiful, but I imagine the dwarves can make something like this easily."

"The runes around the outside. I haven't seen this language written in…let's just say a very long time…" his voice faded as he stared at it. "I couldn't tell you what it says, but I imagine it's a key to playing it. I fear, my dear, the plot has thickened."

"I'm not sure how much more mystery I can take. I'm only given more questions and very few answers," Lyra said taking the bowl…bell, back from him.

"I'm afraid that's how most mysteries go. The plot always seems to thicken before it unfolds." Lyra nodded and sat next to him on the rock, the chorus of snores behind them was the only sound they heard for a few minutes.

"They seem to be quite fond of you," Gandalf observed, referring to the dwarves.

"They remind me a lot of the men I served with in my own war. It's a kind of homey feeling among them. I wouldn't presume to be one of them…but there's a familiarity that I find comforting. I just hope I can be of service."

"More than you know, my dear. Even great warriors need something to fight for. The faith of a good woman can spur any man on to greatness. You give him courage," Gandalf stated.

"Him?" she asked

"Who?"

"You said _him_."

" _Them_. You give _them_ courage. That's what I said," Gandalf clarified.

"Mmmhmm."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N See how easy that was? 5 reviews in one day and you get a new chapter! Sorry this one is so short, I needed a break before the next one otherwise it would have been super long.**

They pushed hard the first seven days. Riding well past dark and rising early to begin again. No one complained, but the hobbit made a few comments about missing meals….and a bed…and his garden…and something called a Bolger. It was vexing him beyond belief. Had Thorin more self-awareness, he'd have realized it wasn't the grumbles that bothered him, but the images it conjured.

Every time Bilbo spoke of his warm fire, Thorin could see the hearth. When he quipped about his grandmother's doilies, the rug in the front hall, his mother's portrait or the damn spoons in the drawer, Thorin remembered every inch of the hobbit hole. His home.

"I've heard the drink from the Green Dragon is the stuff of legend," the woman said. She was riding behind him and had drawn her horse next to the pony Bilbo was riding.

"I confess I've polished off a few pints there myself," Bilbo admitted smiling at her. The two had the habit of chatting endlessly on their rides.

"When our adventure is over, I'll have to visit. We'll make a toast to the return journey." Lyra's smile was from ear to ear. Her fondness for the hobbit was evident.

"You know," Bilbo said beaming at her, "I'd quite like that." Thorin could tell the hobbit was equally fond of her. She seemed to understand his gentle ways and was frequently asking him about his life and home. Not that he was jealous of her attention; he just simply couldn't stand the incessant talk of a return journey when they had only just began.

"You shouldn't encourage him," Thorin spoke directly when her horse had caught up to his as they traversed a switch-back to the crest of a hillside where they were going to camp for the night.

"Why not?" she asked looking over at him. He'd noticed in the quiet moments of their journey her eyes frequently found their way to him. The soft green was assessing and evaluation him, her foreknowledge ever inspecting his course and decisions.

"What certainty do you have that he will return?" Thorin questioned as they circled their horses and he dismounted. When she had joined him on the ground, her left eyebrow curved upward and her lips pursed. _Right…foreknowledge._ "Still, we've only set out. His thoughts should be focused ahead and not behind."

"Well isn't _that_ the pot calling the kettle black," Lyra objected. He didn't understand the analogy, but the meaning was well received. "You're on a quest for your home, let him be on one for his," she advised.

"A share of the gold is more likely," Thorin retorted.

"Do you always suspect people of being so selfish?" her question had a bite to it like a mother scolding a child. "You know, Dr. Phil would say that has more to do with _your_ intention than his."

"Doesn't sound like a very wise physician," Thorin mumbled feeling uncomfortably chastised. Lyra huffed and took her horse by the reins and led it off to the other side of the caravan. He watched her leave feeling their interaction could have been more productive. "We'll camp here for two nights," he announced. "Fili, Kili, set some snares. Ori, get a fire going. Bifur, Gloin, Oin, see to the horses. There's a creek through those trees. Make sure that they're well watered, we'll tie them up and see that they're rested a few nights." There. Barking a few orders put him in a better mood.

"Can I help with anything?" Bilbo asked politely.

"If the table needs setting for teatime, I'll ask you," Thorin quipped. He could feel her scowl from across the clearing. "We'll need firewood, and lots of it. Just don't wander too far."

"I'll come with you," Lyra offered. "I could use some _civilized_ company." She didn't look his way, but her sharp words certainly hit their mark.

"Do you think she means me?" Bofur asked. When Thorin didn't reply he looked over, the leader's eyeroll answering his question. "Oh…right…well Bombur and I will just…cook something…" He ducked out of the way quickly to avoid any grumpy retort.

"That's not a good look for you, Thorin," Gandalf said handing the reins of his horse to Oin. "Your list of allies is short, I would not go making enemies of the ones you have."

"She is _your_ responsibility, not mine."

"I was referring to the hobbit, but how strange your first thought was of Lyra." Before Thorin could even think to respond, the wizard was walking off to help set up the camp. Huffing to himself, he pulled his pack off his horse and tossed it on the ground.

"Here's some more," Lyra said bringing the branches over to the pile she an Bilbo had gathered. Using one of the canopy covers, they had stacked at least a night's worth. "You take that side and I'll take this one." They each grabbed a corner of the tarp and began pulling it back toward camp.

"I want to say thank you, for always being so kind. If it weren't for you and Gandalf, I don't think I'd have much of a welcome here," Bilbo stated.

"Try not to judge them, especially Thorin. They're used to being let down and mistreated. I'm afraid it's turned them all a bit callous."

"How did you find your way here? I'm not even sure where you're from. 'Beyond the Sea' is rather vague." They had to pause for a moment to maneuver between the trees, a few logs falling off that Bilbo gathered back up.

"It's a world away," Lyra reflected. "It's a very different land full of wars, and politics, and people so busy with their own lives there's not much in the way of kindness. You have to look very hard for the good. I'm sad to say I don't miss it much."

"I'm sure they miss you. If kindness is rare, then I imagine you were important to a lot of people," Bilbo commended.

"I don't know about that. By the time I left my land I wasn't much use to anyone. The last few years have been very difficult."

"In what way?" The concern and sincerity in Bilbo was almost overwhelming.

"The first time I went off to war I was young, even for a human. I'd only just left school and I was eager to impress my father. He'd made a career of the army and was respected. I was gone almost two years. My mom was sick, but we all thought she was going to get better. Then my C.O. …er…my commander called me into the main tent. She was on the phone…it's like a device that can let you hear someone's voice from very far away. She called to tell me she wanted to sing me one more lullaby. I thought she was just being ridiculous, I'm ashamed now to admit I was embarrassed by her. That was the last time we spoke. She died that night."

"She passed on her love of music to you I see," Bilbo noted. "My mother used to sing to me too. She loved to dance. I say she was the best dancer in all of Hobbiton. She'd scarcely sit down during parties, everyone wanted to partner with her."

"She sounds lovely," Lyra observed with a smile. "She was a Took, wasn't she?"

"Yes, she was. Belladona was her name. You know, she had eight older siblings? Her parents used to call her "remarkable". I think they were quite stunned to have another child so late in their lives."

"Remarkable sounds right. She'd be very proud of you Bilbo. You're probably the first hobbit in years to venture so far from home."

"You know," he said as they finally tugged the wood pile back into camp, "she had a very great deal to do with why I decided to come. It's like I could hear her voice from the portrait in the hall, 'don't you go wasting your life sitting on the side, Bilbo, not when there is music to dance to'. That's what she used to say to me at parties when I was too shy to dance…"

"Who's dancing?" Bombur asked from his seat by the fire.

"Certainly not you, ya great big load!" Bofur teased and the others laughed. They unloaded the wood pile a few paces away and sat next to each other on an overturned log.

"To our mothers," Lyra toasted handing Bilbo one of the wineskins. He smiled and they shared a drink as they watched the pot of stew begin to boil.

"Well done Master Baggins," Thorin said taking a seat on the other side of Lyra. "That should last us well into the morning." The two wood-gatherers looked at him in bewilderment.

"Y-yes well, glad to be of service," Bilbo said when he had regained his voice. Lyra didn't say anything but gave Thorin a look of approval as she passed him the wineskin she had been partaking from. He nodded to her in thanks before taking a drink.

"We've set over a dozen snares," Fili commented as he and his brother returned to camp. "Should have us some tasty rabbit come morning."

"We're heading to the creek for a wash," Kili stated as he cast off his cloak onto his bedroll. "Anyone care to join?"

A few of the dwarves chimed in a chorus of 'ayes' as they stood and began kicking off their boots and cloaks and shirts.

"Ahem," Lyra coughed, clearing her throat. Almost in unison, every set of eyes widened as they remembered the fairer of their company.

"Right well then, we'll just finish this elsewhere," Balin commented.

"Yes, right, me too," Dori added.

"Begging your pardon, Miss," Ori apologized as he held his shirt over his chest in embarrassment. The crew quickly shuffled from camp and toward the creek.

"Unless you'd like to join us," Fili offered, "I'll need someone to wash my back," he toyed with a suggestive look.

"You'll need bandages for the tanning I'll give you if you make another proposal like that again," Thorin barked and to his surprise Lyra started laughing.

"I don't care for the smell of corn-chips, Fili, you'll have to ask your brother," she called.

"Some tasks even family won't help with," Kili commented and tossed a wink her way. Thorin looked as though he were about to lunge, but she placed a hand on his arm to stop him. The young dwarves caught the hint, and disappeared into the tree line leaving Gandalf, Thorin, Bilbo and Lyra alone around the fire.

"I apologize for the idiocy of my nephews," Thorin began.

"They don't mean any harm," Lyra said removing her hand. "A little flirting keeps the spirits up. I saw it all the time in my platoon."

"They know better than to conduct themselves in that way," Thorin responded.

"They're young Thorin, let them be a little silly while they can. I'm sure you made a few girls blush when you were their age."

"I did no such thing," he said defensively.

"Never?"

"I don't _trifle_."

"No wonder you're always in such a bad mood," she said standing. "A little _trifling_ might do you some good." Before they could argue again, she stepped over the log and moved toward the corral of horses.

"What?" Thorin snapped as he noticed the looks Bilbo and Gandalf were exchanging. "Say nothing," he ordered as he too stood and walked the opposite direction of the animals.

The moon was bright overhead when Thorin woke for his watch. When the dwarves had returned from bathing, they'd settled in for a meal before retrieving their flutes and harps and playing a few dwarrow songs. Lyra had played two songs of her own, one lively and one soothing as they all passed into slumber. She and Dwalin had agreed to take the first shift and he was happy to get a few hours of sleep before rising.

"Get some rest," Thorin said to Dwalin and clapped him on the back. His friend didn't need a second invitation, before tucking himself under a blanket. "Where's Lyra?" Thorin asked noting she wasn't with him and her sleeping spot was vacant.

"She excused herself a bit ago to uh…tend to some women's issues," Dwalin said bashfully. "Said she'd return when she was finished. She went off that way," he pointed. "Do you want me to look for her?"

"No, I'll do it, just wake Nori for me, I'll be back in a moment," Thorin replied and fetched his sword before following the direction Dwalin had indicated. He was beginning to feel annoyed at her for wandering off alone when he heard her singing softly. When he spotted her sitting on a rock in the middle of the creek he halted in his tracks just inside the line of trees.

Her long, wet hair was draped over one should and she wore a dark thin strapped shirt and some sort of blue cutoff pants that stopped mid-thigh. Her feet were still in the water and she looked to be washing out some of her clothes as she softly hummed. Moonlight shone off her smooth, bare legs and shoulders, making her usually tan skin look iridescent.

After ringing out the blue shirt she'd worn that day, she began raking her fingers through her hair, removing the tangles. There was something so intimate about her presence, confidently perched like a water spirit. Thorin had seen many beautiful women in his life, some human, some dwarven, but he had to admit in that moment he couldn't remember a single face or figure other than Lyra's. She looked about as intoxicating as that first night when she'd cornered him in Bree.

He'd been lying earlier when she challenged him about making maidens blush. He didn't want to give her the impression he philandered in that way. In spite of the tragedy of losing his home, he'd been the object of many eyes during courting seasons. At some points he'd found comfort that, though he had no kingdom to offer, he was still desired in some way. He'd never been able to bring himself to marry. A husband was supposed to provide a home and protection for his wife and family. Thorin had never been able to promise those to anyone. He was doomed to life of hardship and he wouldn't subject that onto any swooning dwarrowdam.

But Lyra was no doe-eyed child. Even among her own kind she was considered a woman, not just in age but in life experience. She'd been married and though she'd admitted to not having children, she'd known the touch of a man. It was clear in her confidence, her poise, and the ease in which she inhabited her beauty. Lyra knew the curve of her hips, fullness of bosom, and the attractiveness of her eyes were desirable. She didn't flaunt them the way young women did, hoping to catch the eye and attention of any man. But she knew her figure all the same, and her rapier charm made her all the more alluring.

She stood then, drawing him out of his thoughts. Her form fitting under clothes gave him a good view of the dip in her waist. Though a part of him was disappointed, he was grateful he'd found her at the end of her bathing and not during; for the sake of her modesty as well as his.

"Lyra!" he called feigning he was still looking for her, knowing the dark of the trees would conceal him. She quickly waded to shore and wrapped a thin blanket around her shoulders. "Oh, there you are," he said stepping into the moonlight. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to impose."

"That's alright," she said moving toward her bag near his feet to retrieve some dry clothes. "If you're awake then I took longer than I meant to. I was grateful for the solitude and got lost in my thoughts I suppose."

"You shouldn't wander alone. Orcs have been known to roam these parts," he advised and adverted his eyes as she pulled a white shirt over her head.

"Well I didn't think it appropriate to bathe with the others," she countered.

"At least let one of us stand guard," he said narrowing his eyes. She always had to be so contradictory! "Just not Fili or Kili…"

"Are you offering?" she asked, that damned glint in her eyes heightened by the clear night sky. He swallowed hard, feeling his mouth suddenly dry. Before he could think of an answer, he noticed a red stain on her right leg at the knee.

"What have you done?" he asked suddenly and knelt to examine the cut. It wasn't very big, but it looked like she'd scraped several layers of skin off. Without thinking, he took her calf in his hands and shifted her leg to catch the light of the moon so he could examine it better.

"Thorin!" she cried as she lost her balance and had to sit on the bank to avoid falling. "It's nothing, I just cut myself with that stupid razor from Bree."

"What were you doing with a razor…" his question was cut short as he realized the skin beneath his fingers was silken and hairless. He didn't recall dwarowdam doing _that_ …

"Women where I'm from shave their legs," she said quickly, her face turning red. "It's um…very common and considered good hygiene...I really don't know why I'm explaining this to you." He would have been amused at how flustered she was if he hadn't been as equally rattled.

"Forgive me, I…" he didn't end his sentence because he couldn't think of anything to say. "At lease let me bandage that. If it becomes inflamed you'll have a hard time riding." He reached over her to grab the blanket she'd discarded, suddenly away that her hair smelt of roses, before cutting a strip off with his blade and dipping it into the water before wiping the blood away.

"You really don't need to do that," she protested, but it was hardly dripping with sincerity. The warmth of his hand on her leg was spreading upward and made her shiver. The sight of the dwarf kneeling at her feet and made her take a sharp breath.

"Does it sting?" he asked looking at her. She was suddenly very grateful she had sat down because the look in his dilated eyes made her feel lightheaded. Lyra could only shake her head and he finished tying the cloth over her knee with surprising tenderness. He stood first and took her hands hauling her to her feet. She nearly bumped into his chest as she couldn't bend her leg very well with the bandage.

"Thank you," she said looking up at him through her dark eyelashes. His hands balled into fists at his side to keep them in place. "We should get back…" It was his turn to nod, but he took a moment to appreciate her soft face before stepping back and taking her bag for her. She gathered her wet clothes and led the way back through the trees toward camp, her heart beating heavily in her chest.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Awesome job reviewing guys. Thank you for the questions and positive feedback. I tried to make this chapter a little longer since the last one was about two pages shorter than I usually try to run. I hope you like it! Rember, every 5 reviews gets a new chapter (10=2, 15=3 etc).**

"Lass, will ye be joining me for patrol again?" Dwalin asked Lyra as he steered his horse next to hers. They were two days past the Last Bridge and were well onto the East Road. Thorin had noticed for the last two weeks Lyra and Dwalin were spending time alone nearly every day. Not that he was jealous, but he wondered what they were up to.

It had been several long days since their encounter at the stream, but she had acted like it never happened. Even a few days later when he'd asked how her leg was fairing, she'd made a quick reply that it was fine and moved on. Without understanding exactly why, he had wanted to know if she had anything to say about it. Even a quip about his peeping would have indicated she has some opinion, but he hadn't heard one word from her.

"Of course, Dwalin," Lyra replied and he smiled to her. A muscle in Thorin's forehead tightened as he watched them ride up front to scout ahead.

"We're nearing the Hidden Valley," Gandalf said from next to him. "We should make for the city of Rivendell, we could find answers there."

"No," Thorin said shortly.

"Thorin, there are those there who could read the map that leads to the secret door," Gandalf tried to reason.

"Is that not why Lyra has joined the company? I think it time for her to begin answering questions instead of wasting her time socializing."

"There are answers she seeks as well, would you deny her that?" Gandalf was getting aggravated but Thorin was past the point of caring. He could no longer see Dwalin and Lyra's horses as they traversed the hill above them.

"Her concerns are not mine."

"No, but who she associates with clearly does..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"See reason, Thorin. The elves will help you," Gandalf said deciding to steer the conversation away from Lyra. "Lord Elrond is a master of ancient runes and we have a map that cannot be read!"

"Help? Oh yes, they've proven most helpful in the past. They were _so_ helpful when they road to our aid when the dragon attacked Erebor. They gave so much help when orcs plundered the halls of Moria and our people were left starving and wandering the wilds. You would have me ask for help from the same people who betrayed my grandfather and father?"

"I would have you ask for help from the people who will give you what you need to fulfill your quest," Gandalf declared. "Whether you want to hear it or not, your father and grandfather were as much to blame for the rift between your races as the elves were."

"I've listened to you long enough. You've saddled me with a burglar who cannot steel and a seer who shares no insight, why should I take any more advice from you?"

"Well I can see I am clearly not going to get through that hard head of yours with mere words! Now if you'll excuse me I am suddenly overcome with the temptation to try to reason with you with violence!" Gandalf yelled and spurred his horse into a gallop and soon he had vanished over the hill.

"Where is Gandalf going?" Bilbo asked, the concern and fear in him making his voice tremble.

"To give his counsel to the only person who cares to hear it: himself!" Thorin snapped. The dwarves behind him had overheard the conversation and were now uncommonly silent as they feared making any noise that might anger their leader.

It was nearly thirty minutes later Lyra and Dwalin road back to join them. "There's an abandon house half way up the crest of the hill, we should stop there for the night," Dwalin said to Thorin.

"You presume to tell me what we _should_ do?" Thorin asked. His eyes narrowed into a glare at the bald dwarf.

"I was only suggesting…"

"Where's Gandalf?" Lyra asked cutting them off.

"He left," Bilbo answered and cast a nervous glance at Thorin. "There was a bit of a disagreement."

"About what?" Lyra asked looking to Thorin.

"You're the forbearer, don't you already know?" There was venom dripping from his voice, but Lyra didn't give him the satisfaction of reacting.

"You argued about the Hidden Valley, didn't you? You're still refusing to ask for any help from the elves," she answered him with a sigh.

"I don't need their help," he replied and steered his horse around her to urge the group forward. Lyra dug her heels in and matched her horse's pace with his.

"You're right, you don't," Lyra said startling him.

"You're not going to convince me to go to the elves?" he questioned.

"I'm not going to try to convince you of anything," she declared. "If you decide against going to Rivendell, we will still move forward to Erebor."

"Good, then that's what we'll…"

"But I want you to weigh the alternatives," she interrupted. "Our company has been riding hard for nearly a month. Provisions are running low and the longer we stay in the wild, the more likely we are to encounter orcs and wargs. None of us have had a hot bath or bed in weeks and we've hundreds of miles of goblin filled mountains and forests of spiders between us and the Lonely Mountain that has a dragon hiding behind a door we don't know how to find. And every single one of us will face that with you with smiles on our faces."

"Or?" Thorin asked feeling the weight of her words chipping away at his resolve.

"Or," she continued, "we ride to Rivendell and show Elrond that nothing will deter our quest. We prove to the elves that they're not _needed_ to help us, but if they have any honor, they will give us the supplies and answers we ask for. If they don't help us, we will still have victory and their shame will be written in history."

"I like the way that sounds," Thorin confessed. He had to admit her input had calmed his temper and, even though he hated the idea of spending one moment in the presence of the elves, being reassured of victory and the prospect of being able to rub it in the noses of those who doubt him, sounded more promising than risking the lives of his faithful companions and subjecting them to the mercy of the mountains without provisions. "We'll camp tonight and I'll think on it. I make no promises."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she responded, "but I'm grateful you're at least considering. You're a good leader, Thorin. To put aside your own pride and think of what's best for your people."

"We'll see," he grumbled. He didn't like feeling as though anyone was making his decisions for him, but as he was finally getting answers from Lyra, he wasn't inclined to ignore them either. "Let's stop for the night," he suggested as they reached the abandoned home Dwalin had mentioned.

The log building was in a state of disrepair, two of the four walls were collapsed and the ceiling was missing entirely. There was an overturned tree lying not far off that looked as though it had swept clean through the home.

Lyra unpacked her things with unease knowing that they were likely to encounter the trolls soon. She didn't know an exact timeline, but as they were nearing Rivendell, they had stumbled through their territory. Not knowing whether their threat could be avoided or not, she tried to remain alert, especially with Gandalf having gone off.

"He's been gone a long while," Bilbo observed when night had fallen. "He will be back, won't he?"

"Yes I'm sure he will," Lyra answered from next to him. They were eating their evening meal seated next to each other on a rock when she turned to him.

"I need your help," she whispered trying not to draw the attention of the others. "There's a cave around here that I would like to find. We need to do it before it's too dark. Will you help me look for it?"

"Do you think it's wise to wander off? We could ask Thorin…"

"No, I don't want to alert him, I don't even know if we'll find it, but if we do we can avoid danger. Please, Bilbo?"

"Alright, but only for a little while. Then I must insist we return." Lyra agreed to his terms and they returned their bowls to Bombur who unceremoniously licked them clean.

"Where are you two running off to?" Dwalin asked as he noticed the two inching toward the woods.

"Just checking on the horses, we'll be right back," Lyra lied.

"Good, then you can take supper to Fili and Kili. They're keeping watch from the peak" he said shoving two bowls into Bilbo's hands. Lyra made to protest, but Bilbo spoke first.

"Certainly, we'd be delighted. Best be off before it gets cold," he said quickly and Lyra followed him into the trees.

"We don't have time for that…"

"Maybe not, but at least we'll have an excuse for being gone longer. Plus, Fili and Kili have sharp eyes. Maybe they've seen this cave of yours." Lyra couldn't argue the logic.

It was typical for the two princes to scout the area before night watches began. They had the sharpest eyes of any in the company and more than once they'd returned with a bounty of rabbit, squirrel, a deer or a harvest of berries.

They had walked nearly fifteen minutes against the rockery before they heard Fili and Kili speaking to one another. Lyra was disappointed she'd not seen any sign of anything that looked like a cave.

"What are you two doing here?" Kili asked as he spotted them first.

"Thought you might be hungry," Bilbo answered extending the bowls to them. They each took one and looked down at the food.

"Bombur didn't get to the bowls first did he?" Fili asked.

"Freshly washed," Lyra replied sitting on a low limb of a tree. "Spot anything?" she asked.

"Strange tracks, we've been following them for a bit, but they seem to walk in circles," Fili answered between bites.

"Either that or there's more than one," Kili stated.

"More than one, what?" Bilbo asked

"Troll," the two brothers said in unison.

"Trolls…" Lyra said looking around. "Have you seen them?"

"Them?" Fili questioned. "What do you know about them?"

"There are three of them," she replied. "They're not very bright, but they're dangerous. I had hoped to avoid them, but they're guarding a cave that holds treasure we need to find."

"Cave?"

"Treasure?"

"Three of them?" Bilbo had considerably paled.

"Should we find the cave first, we can gather what we need and be on our way without ever encountering them," Lyra suggested.

"I'm in!" Kili chimed and stuffed the rest of the stew down and discarded his bowl.

"There's a large rookery not far, I bet there's all sorts of crevices and caves," Fili added.

"I don't think this is such a good idea," Bilbo cautioned.

"Come on Master Baggins, where's your sense of adventure?" Fili and Kili led the way with Lyra and Bilbo close behind. They followed the massive tracks as best they could and soon the trees bore broken limbs and more than one was overturned.

It was growing dark as they searched along the rock face and most of the crevices were only one or two steps deep. Lyra was growing impatient and she couldn't help but feel anxious at every crack, shuffle or tweet she heard from the woods.

"Well looks like we'll need to turn back," Bilbo said and leaned against the rock at his back. He cried out as the rock moved underneath him and rolled away. He landed hard on the ground staring at a black opening in the hillside.

"Well done, Master Baggins!" Fili said and jumped over him and into the entryway.

"Here," Lyra said removing the lighter from her pocket. Kili extended a branch he'd wrapped in fabric and with a sprinkle of ale, she lit it and the torch illuminated the cave.

They weren't more than five steps inside when the ground gave way to the glimmer of gold. The air was thick and smelled of rotting animal that almost made them choke.

"Would you look at this?" Kili asked in awe as he rifled through a chest full of gleaming jewels. "I'd say we recruited the wrong person to burgle for us," he teased.

"Come on, we can grab more in the morning, help me with these," Lyra said grabbing an arm full of swords. Not wanting to waste time trying to discover which ones were the elven crafts for Gandalf and Thorin, she settled on grabbing them all.

Fili and Kili each grabbed a load of weapons and followed her out of the cave. They had just started back when a large, gray mass came crashing past them. Fili pulled her behind a tree for cover before they were seen.

"I told ya, I 'eard sometin'," the troll said. "Somethin's wandered into our cave."

"I di'nt hear nothin'," a second troll said following behind. "But I do smell somthin' peculiar…"

"Sorry Bert," the first troll said waving a hand through the air at his backside.

"No no, not that Tom," Bert replied and looked around the cave opening. "Somethin' fresh, somethin'…meaty."

"Where's Bilbo?" Kili asked in a whisper. The other two looked around them and didn't see their little friend anywhere.

"Oh God…he's still in the cave!" Lyra said and watched the two hulking creatures disappear into the dark opening. "Bilbo!"

"What's got you in an especially foul mood?" Dwalin asked sitting next to Thorin. His dark haired friend had barely spoken ten words to him in the last few days, which was very unlike him.

"None of your concern," Thorin replied darkly as he continued to sharpen his sword with the flat of a stone.

"Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain songstress, would it?" Dwalin inquired knowingly. Thorin paused in his strokes but didn't look up. "Aye, you might fool the others Thorin, but I ken ye well. She takes up many of your thoughts."

"Don't be absurd, I have more important things on my mind than some woman."

"Well she's not just _some_ woman, is she? Not to us at least," Dwalin replied. "Fair minded and bonny to look on; say nothing of her courage and willingness to help a bunch of wanderers who're likely doomed to fail. I'd say she's proven herself quite impressive."

"I see that _you've_ noticed. You certainly seem fond of spending time with her," Thorin observed and he began sharpening his sword a little faster.

"Oh that? It's true. She came to me nay a fortnight ago askin' for a favor. I obliged her meeting and we've spent the better part of our night watches training on the sword and axe. She's a bit clumsy still, but I think she could hold her own if it came down to it." Thorin looked up startled. "What did you think we were up to?"

"I didn't know…" he admitted. "But I thought…maybe…" Dwalin cut him off with his laughter.

"Aye, if I were a younger lad I might make a play for her myself," Dwalin said stroking his beard, his eyes still watering in amusement. "But then again, I'd never set my eyes on anything I knew already belonged to my King." Thorin stopped his ministrations. "You can't be so daft as to not see the way she looks at ye," Dwalin chided. "Haven't seen anyone look at something with so much wanton since Bombur devoured that roast boar at the last Yule Festival." The two chuckled at the memory.

"I make no claim on her," Thorin conceded. "She's human, I'm dwarrow. That's the first of many reasons it would be an impossible match."

"As impossible as a handful of dwarves and a hobbit taking on a dragon to reclaim a lost mountain?" Dwalin challenged. Before either of them could utter another word, a piercing scream shattered the quiet night. A moment later Fili and Kili burst through the trees.

"Trolls!" Fili shouted. "They've got Bilbo cornered in a cave." Another shrill scream rang out.

"Lyra," Thorin breathed and brandished his sword.

Lyra ducked behind another tree, let out a loud scream, and darted away. Without any other ideas, she'd sent Fili and Kili back for help, knowing they were both faster than her, and led the dwarves away from the cave Bilbo was trapped in by giving them something to chase.

The tree over her head shattered as a club-like arm came crashing overhead. She rolled out of the way and ran uphill to the cliffs.

"There it is!" Tom yelled. "Grab it!" Bert reached for her as she tried to hide behind a rock and she brought her sword down hard on its hand. Bert cried in pain, but she was certain she'd barely nicked his stone like skin.

She was almost to the other side of the rock wall when a face appeared in front of her. She screamed as a third troll stood up, a horse tucked under each arm. It dropped the animals that scampered off and grabbed Lyra before she could recover enough to move.

"Good catch William, this one's slippery as an eel it is!" Bert said as the other two joined him. Lyra had stumbled right into their camp, complete with fire, boiling pot, and pen where she saw three of their ponies and Horse.

"Stop wriggling," William snapped and tightened his grip on her. Lyra felt her lungs compress forcing the air out of her and her bones began to pop.

"Go on then," Tom said. "Toss 'er in the pot. She'll go great with the stew we've started." Lyra could feel the heat from the steam hit her face as she was lowered, but all at once, the peg that held the pot to the spit was cut lose with an arrow. The boiling liquid spilled to the ground and splattered onto William's feet.

"Oh ho ho, hot, hot, hot!" William cried and dropped her as he clutched his burning toes. She rolled away from him and jumped to her feet just as the dwarves came bursting through the trees with battle cries and shouts.

"Get them!" Tom yelled and then confusion rained down as metal met flesh and the trolls stomped their hoof like feet and swung their arms. Lyra ducked as an arm went over her head and was nearly hit with a falling branch when she was tackled to the ground.

"Are you alright?" Thorin asked as he lay half sprawled on top of her. She was clutching his arms as her mind finally caught up to her and she nodded. He stood to his feet, hauling her with him and held her at arm's length for a moment before saying, "get the horses." Without waiting for her reply, he turned back to the battle. Lyra raced toward the pen and yanked on the cords, pulling the reins free.

"Run!" she yelled and the ponies bolted. "You too!" she bickered as Horse stood staring at her. Had she not known better, she would say that Horse was reluctant to leave her. Lyra smacked her hard on the backside and with a bray the animal jumped the fence and was gone.

Lyra watched helplessly for a moment as the thirteen warriors fought off the trolls in an almost choreographed looking dance. The sheen of blades and axes strobed in the moonlight. She saw her sword lying near the fire and ran for it. When her hand met the hilt, she sprinted to the top of the bolder and jumped onto the back of the nearest troll. With the weight of her fall, the tip of her sword drove straight into the tender skin between the shoulder blades of the troll. It screamed in pain, and before she could let go, it reached over its back and caught her by the legs.

"Stop! Or I'll burn her alive!" The troop of dwarves paused as they saw Tom holding Lyra by the feet, her head dangling over the fire, her long hair beginning to singe.

"Lay down your arms," Thorin ordered and the weapons clanked to the ground. Lyra was unceremoniously stuffed headfirst into a sack and tossed on the ground. She had to wriggle for several minutes before she was able to find the opening and pull her head through it, but her shoulders were far too wide to fit.

"Are you ok?" Thorin asked for the second time as he looked over at her. He too was tied in a burlap sack with the others.

"I'm sorry, I tried to lead them off," she said feeling emotional as the adrenaline subsided. Thorin didn't answer as the trolls began cleaning up the camp and replacing the pot over the fire.

"They've let the ponies go!" Bert complained. "Now we'll 'ave nothing but dwarf to eat!"

"Don't cry, Bert. We'll 'ave 'orse tomorrow. There's enough o' them for a tasty soup. Bit of rosemary will lighten up the broth," Tom said pouring water into the pot.

"That'd better get boilin', dawn's almost 'ere and I'm not about to get turned to stone," William grumbled.

"Fetch me more firewood, then," Tom requested. Bert reached for a pile of wood behind him when Lyra noticed he was holding her guitar. She'd completely forgotten that she'd left it on Horse's saddle.

"It itches," William said trying to reach the sword that was stuck in his back.

"Don't pick at it, it'll get infected," Tom chided.

"No!" Lyra screamed as the troll made to toss her guitar on the fire.

"Quiet you!" Bert barked and made to stomp on her when a tiny voice interjected.

"How uncultured!" The company clearly recognized Bilbo's soft voice, but the three trolls looked around confused.

"What was that?"

"I mean honestly, sitting down to an evening meal without as much as entertainment." Kili nudged Thorin and gestured to a high up branch in a tree where the tiny man was perched.

"It's a ghost Bert, a ghost!" Tom wailed and covered his head with his hands.

"It's no ghost, it's got to be another one 'o them dwarves lurking about."

"No, no, I'm no dwarf!" Bilbo called. "Just a-a-a bird, the smell of your… _delicious_ meal brought me here." They were still looking around, but couldn't see him tucked against the trunk.

"Well it's ours! You can't have any!" William snapped.

"Oh why I would never! I could _never_ have such a-a delicate meal without a bit of music."

"Music?"

"Well yes, and to be quite honest I'm surprised at you three. Even the hill trolls of Eriador will have a harpist play for them." Lyra caught the drift and chimed in.

"It's true!" she called. "I'm a bard from Bree and I've often played for the Hill Trolls. They're far more elegant that filthy cave trolls."

"What?" Bert asked. "We _never_ have a bit of music with dinner."

"Such a shame," Bilbo reproved.

"Are you implyin' that we're not sophisty-cated?" Tom asked.

"Well…"

"I ought to squash you right now!"

"I wouldn't do that!" Bilbo cried. "I mean…that's the bard, you don't want to kill a bard. She-she-she could play for you, that would prove that you are…immeasurable sophisticated."

"Oh yes, please Tom, let 'er play! I love me a bit o' music!" Bert squealed in delight.

"Alright then, but just till the pot gets boilin'," Tom relented. "No funny business now," he warned as he picked Lyra up and pulled the sack off of her and she moved toward the fire and picked up her guitar.

"Hurry up!" William snapped stirring the water. Lyra dusted her guitar off and tried to force her trembling hands to play. God if only she could remember the chords to Sister Ray's twenty minute song, The Velvet Underground.

"I am, hold on…let me think…" Lyra cast a pleading look back at Thorin. He gave her a soft nod, his eyes full of confidence in her. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and let him impart his courage to her.

Where it began, I can't begin to knowing  
But then I know it's growing strong  
Was in the spring  
Then spring became the summer  
Who'd have believed you'd come along

Hands, touching hands  
Reaching out, touching me, touching you

Sweet Caroline  
Good times never seemed so good  
I'd be inclined  
To believe they never would  
But now I

Look at the night and it don't seem so lonely  
We filled it up with only two  
And when I hurt  
Hurting runs off my shoulders  
How can I hurt when I'm holding you

One, touching one  
Reaching out, touching me, touching you

Sweet Caroline  
Good times never seemed so good  
I'd be inclined  
To believe they never would  
Oh no, no

Sweet Caroline  
Good times never seemed so good  
Sweet Caroline  
I believe they never could

"Oh, again! Again!" Bert called giggling and stomping his feet like a child.

"No more songs till I've 'ad somethin' to eat! My stomachs growlin' so loudly I can' 'ardly 'ear the music!" Tom griped.

"No!" Lyra yelled as the troll picked up Bombur. "I-I won't play if you eat him!"

"What, would you 'ave us go hungry?"

"Well…"

"If there's no supper, than there's no use for music," William said and picked her up by the hair. She cried in pain and the dwarves were all shouting.

"The dawn will take you all!" Lyra looked toward the booming voice she knew was Gandalf's. He was standing on the tall rock face and brought his staff down hard. With a great crack, the stone split in half, and glorious sunlight streamed through. It slapped against the trolls, their skin crunching as it turned to stone. Lyra fell hard on the ground as William dropped her

"Gandalf!" The dwarves cheered. In a moment Bilbo was at her side, having climbed down the tree, and he helped her off the ground.

"Well done," he said smiling.

"It was your idea," she said hugging him. He balked for a moment before returning the gesture.

"My dear," Gandalf said joining them. "I have oft heard music is good for the soul, but today I daresay it's quite good for the body too."

"Never took myself for a rock player," she teased and even though the pun was lost on him, they both laughed.

"Hate to break up the reunion, but we'd like to get out of these sacks!" Balin called. The three of them hurried to action, racing to the dwarves and untying them.

"Hold still," Lyra said kneeling in front of Thorin. The knot at the top of the sack was tight and her trembling fingers were having a hard time unloosing it.

"Are you hurt?" he questioned, referring to the hard fall, but Lyra only chuckled.

"I think you're going to set a record for the number of times you're going to ask me that." He didn't look amused. "I'm alright, are you ok?"

"No thanks to that hobbit, if he hadn't been foolish enough to wander into that cave, none of this would have happened."

"The cave was my idea, if it's anyone's fault it's mine."

"You had the mind to stall for time. That was clever," he praised.

"That? That was Bilbo's idea. I say it's _him_ you owe thanks to, not me." She yanked the cord loose and pulled the bag down so Thorin could step out of it. She made to move on to the next captive, but Thorin took her by the arm and pulled her tight against him, his arms wrapping around her shoulders.

Every muscle in her body went rigid as she was crushed against his chest and she could feel his heart pounding against her. Slowly she relaxed into the embrace and her arms wound around his waist.

"Don't do anything foolish like that again," he said softly into her ear. Her hands clutched his back as she pulled away enough to look up into his eyes.

"You know I can't promise that," she said honestly.

"Then just make sure I'm around to save you." She swallowed hard, but the moment was cut short as Bombur nearly bowled her over in a hug.

"Thank you, thank you M'Lady!" he said in gratitude. Lyra laughed and caught Thorin's eyes over the rounder dwarf's shoulder and he looked disheartened as he turned and moved toward Gandalf.

"Where did you wander off to?" he asked still sullen.

"To look ahead. Rather fortunate I stopped to look behind."

"Our fortune lies in you're actually being on time for once." Gandalf laughed and clapped Thorin on the shoulder when something caught his eyes.

"What is this?" He walked over to the pile of discarded weapons. He picked up a sheathed sword and handed it to Thorin before grabbing another for himself. "These are swords from the first age…no finer weapons have been crafted since the great goblin wars. Where did you find these?"

"In the cave," Lyra answered. "That's how we stumbled upon the trolls, we were exploring their hideout."

"Show me," Gandalf requested.

"It's this way, hold on." She moved back to the now rock hard form of William. He was in a permanently crouched position and she reached for her sword that still protruded from his back.

"Let me, lass," Dwalin offered as she struggled to reach it. He gripped the hilt and tugged but it was stuck tight. "Sorry lass, you'll have to find another one. This one isn't going anywhere."

"I can't leave it…it's my favorite…"

"For pity's sake," Thorin said and pushed Dwalin aside. He took the hilt easily in his large hand, gave it two strong pulls and it slid easily from the stone creature. When it was loose, he noticed the familiarity of the blade. It was the one he had forged for Lyra in Bree.

"I loosened it…" Dwalin grumbled before sulking off.

"Thank you," she said with the twinge of embarrassment as he handed it back to her. "It has sentimental value."

"Not as fancy as a broach," he teased.

"Well wouldn't you know it, the shop didn't sell jewelry," she rebutted as she sheathed it.

"Hmm…I can see that. I gather the craftsman has better uses for his hands." He felt a wave of satisfaction as her eyes widened and face flushed pink. She made a small choking noise before walking away from him toward Gandalf and he broke into a smile. So even after all these years, he could still make a woman blush.

"Here it is," Bilbo said leading the way back to the cave. The sun was up far enough that they could make out the inside.

"Quite the hoard they have," Gandalf said slowly evaluating the stockpile. "They must have come down from the Ettinsmoor. I haven't seen the likes of a mountain troll in these parts for an age…not since darker powers ruled these lands."

"Why did you linger in the cave so long?" Lyra asked Bilbo.

"About that…I saw something glowing," he said shortly.

"What was glowing?" she asked confused.

"I think it was this," Bilbo said extending a sword to her. _Sting_ …She slowly pulled it from the sheath, its cool metal a reflective silver.

"That's an elvish blade. It'll glow blue when goblins are near. Goblins and…" before Gandalf could finish, the silver became illuminated with a bright blue

"Orcs," Lyra finished.

"Run."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Hey! I realized as I was looking back through my posted chapters that the format I had for spaces between time jumps was not translating to fanfiction. I apologize for the confusing layout! I will go back and try to adjust that. Hopefully the new spacers I put in this chapter work.**

The sounds of fifteen boots pounding heavy on the ground was hardly stealthy. The rattle of their weapons and armor echoed off the boulders that littered the valley floor. They'd been running since dawn, their encounter with the trolls now miles behind them, but there was no sign of rest. Every time they paused, seeking shelter in the crevices between rocks, the wail of wargs and screeched of orcs rekindled their pace.

"Thorin, we've got to find shelter!" Dwalin called from the middle of the pack. They all tucked themselves under an overhanging stone. Their breathing came out on harsh gasps and sweat poured from foreheads.

"Thorin," Lyra said between rasps. She didn't need to finish her thought; he could see clearly on her face what she was going to say. His hard gaze softened as he surveyed his exhausted company.

"Lead the way Mithrandir," he instructed.

"Come on Bilbo," Lyra said urging the hobbit forward. They'd scarcely had time that morning to gather their things before running. Twice they'd almost been spotted before they escaped the woods, but there was no reprieve as they entered the open fields. Had it not been for the large boulders and rookeries, there would be nothing to disrupt the line of sight between them and the creatures that hunted them.

Gandalf took his position at the front of the pack and the others filed behind him. They were barely twenty paces from behind the rock, when the chilling sound of a horn startled them. They'd been spotted.

"Arms!" Thorin yelled. Unsheathing their blades, they circled, their backs facing each other and from the east, wargs began pouring over the crest of the hill. "Kili, Ori!" The two archers fired, their arrows meeting their marks. "Stay behind me," Thorin said to Lyra. Four wargs went down before the other five reached them.

"Cut them down!" Dwalin shouted, his two handed axe slicing into the first creature that reached them. The wolf-like creatures were terrifying. Their mangy fur was caked with blood and mud. With a shoulder height of five feet, they were almost as tall as Lyra, their razor filled mouths dripped saliva at the prospect of a meal of dwarf, hobbit and human.

Pushing Bilbo behind her protectively, a warg leapt overhead and tackled Fili who was standing next to her. A rage filled cry erupted from her as she drove the point of her sword into the tender skin between ribs. The wolf snarled and thrashed, turning its head to try and bite her when Nori jumped on its back and hacked at its neck. The sound of skin slicing when she withdrew her sword was revolting, but she drove the weapon back in and she felt the pressure of ribs breaking. With a final yelp, it collapsed.

"Fili," she cried as she and two others pushed the body of the dead warg off of the young dwarf.

"I'm alright," he said taking the outstretched hand and getting to his feet. He helped bring down the last warg, the grass underfoot now stained black and red with blood.

"Hurry, this way!" Gandalf urged as adrenaline from the battle fueled their retreat. Lyra could barely hear over the pounding of her heart in her chest. She called upon her military training to push aside the fear and the revulsion of making her first kill with her bare hands, and focused on what needed to be done.

They were now surrounded on all sides, and not just wargs, but orcs rode on their backs, their arrows began peppering the ground around them. They raised their shields and they hissed as they whizzed by.

"Gandalf?!" Balin yelled as the wizard disappeared at the foot of a rock. When the others reached the spot, they saw that Gandalf hadn't vanished, but had slipped into an underground canyon that was nearly invisible from above.

"Quickly!" Gandalf yelled from below. Dwalin and Thorin began ushering the others down the slope. Lyra grabbed Bilbo's arm and flung him down the hole to the waiting arms of the dwarves below.

"Go!" Thorin snapped and Dwalin jumped taking Lyra with him and a moment after, Thorin came crashing down behind them.

"Thorin!" she cried as she saw the arrow sticking out of his side. The others began fussing around him as he stood and he pushed their hands away.

"I'm alright," he said and pulled the arrow out. "It didn't pierce the chainmail." Lyra breathed a sigh of relief as they moved farther into the canyon. They pressed away from the opening, the sounds of snarls and yells passing over head. They scarcely breathed for fear of making the slightest noise.

There was a collective sigh as the sounds of the enemies above drifted into the distance. "There's only one way through," Dori said from the far end. "Do we go forward?"

"Unless you'd like to go backward," Gandalf suggested sarcastically. He pushed his way to the front and began leading them through. Another horn began blasting behind them of a different pitch than the low orc horn they'd heard earlier.

"Elves," Thorin said to Lyra as she fell in pace with him at the back of the crew. "Looks like Gandalf will have his way, then."

"It will be for the best," Lyra advised, "we can ask our questions, eat their food, and be on our way." She was trying to be lighthearted, but Thorin wasn't smiling. In fact he was grimacing. "Hey," she said grabbing his arm to stop him and he winced, his hand flying to his side where the arrow had struck.

"Don't!" he protested as she pulled his hand away. There was a faint tinge of red and she pulled his shirt up to see the puncture wound. The arrow had pierced him between the bindings of mail. "We don't have time for this," he said pushing her hand away.

"Like hell!" she argued and tried to grab him again. "What if it was a morgul shaft? It could have been poisoned!"

"Do you plan to treat me here?" he asked looking around at the cavern walls. Lyra huffed and relented. "I'll be alright."

"Hurry up you two!" Gloin yelled peering back at them. Lyra gave Thorin one last stare before running to catch up.

"What is this?" Bilbo asked as the canyon walls opened into an archway with elaborate carvings. From an unknown source, running over the entirety of the doorway, poured a waterfall that had a golden sheen to it. "It feels like…magic," Bilbo said holding a hand under the water.

"It is magic, very old and powerful magic," Gandalf answered. "This doorway is tasked with keeping all enemies at bay. If you'll follow me, you'll see why." The wizard stepped through first and the others hesitated. Thorin pushed his way to the front and stepped through the water with the others following behind.

Lyra passed through the cool water, the sensation it offered as it soaked her hot face and rinsed the sweat off was almost euphoric. The sense of overwhelming relief made her sigh. The feeling of magic washed over her and she knew the moment she passed through that, for the time, they were perfectly safe from whatever dangers were pursuing them.

The valley opened up below them as they descended a series of stair-like rocks. Carved into the mountainside and slightly obscured with a misty haze from the many waterfalls, was the glorious haven of Rivendell. The many turrets and pointed peaks of the buildings were draped in vines that in early spring were littered with buds and flowers.

"The valley of Imladris, here lies the last Homely House east of the sea."

As they moved farther along the path, the sweet aroma of foliage reached them and a sort of calm enveloped them. The cathedral-like structures had no glass windows, but instead were left wide open and the pillars they passed as they neared the front gate looked to be carved of white sandstone.

Gandalf led the way across a narrow bridge that forced them to walk single file. Once they'd marched under a sweeping archway with two stone sentinels carved on either side, they walked up a staircase and were standing in the center of a round courtyard with open doorways on every side.

"Mithrandir," a voice called from the direction to the north. They all turned and, with guards on either side of him, approached what could only be described as a seraph. Easily approaching seven feet, the tall figure was fit to perfection in a flawless ruby tunic, his brown hair was iron straight and pinned in a half ponytail with a band of woven silver crowned on his head. His complexion was smooth, as though painted in a fine stroked brush, his nose long and pointed with a thin line of lips. "I thought I sensed you pass into our borders!" he spoke.

"Lindir, my friend, how good to see you again," Gandalf said clasping forearms with him. From next to her, Gloin muttered something that sounded like ' _pointy eared fairy_ ' and Lyra stifled a laugh. Her eyes widened and Lindir look at them with an immaculately arched eyebrow.

"And who have we brought, Mithrandir? Haven't I warned you about picking up stray animals?"

"Stray? Who's he calling stray animals?" Dwalin barked and Bifur and Nori had to hold him back.

"Peace, please," Gandalf said holding a hand up to them. "I must speak with Lord Elrond; it is a matter of urgency."

"Here he comes now," Lindir said and extended a hand to the western gateway to their right. If Lyra thought Lindir looked angelic, the elf that moved their way now must have been Jesus himself. His high cheekbones were sharp enough to cut paper, and his blue eyes looked like ice on the frozen sea. His skin was a perfect replica of a glass of poured milk, and his long, pencil thin fingers were laced in front of him as he stood staring at them.

"Ah, Thorin son of Thrain, you are welcome in Rivendell," he said, eyes locking onto their leader.

"I don't believe we've met," Thorin declared, his gravelly voice a perfect contrast to the velvet-smooth coo of Elrond.

"I had the pleasure of knowing your grandfather, Thror when he was King Under the Mountain. Let me offer my overdue condolences. I was greatly grieved to hear of his passing," Elrond stated and placed a hand over his heart to bow his head.

"His murder you mean," Thorin challenged. "I don't accept your pity. It is ill placed."

"I offer it none the less, for his sake if not for yours." They were interrupted when an armor clad elf came racing into the courtyard carrying his helmet. The perfectly polishes silver of his chest place refracted light brilliantly. He whispered something into Elrond's ear and he nodded once. "It seems my guards have hunted down a pack of warg-riding orcs who had crossed into our lands. I don't suppose you would know anything about that."

"I'm afraid we do," Gandalf replied. "We seek shelter and rest; we've been on the run since dawn."

"Lindir, tulime- tien ar cen- te m'at," Elrond spoke in elvish. The language was as fluid as the water they'd passed through.

"What's this? What's he planning?" Gloin snapped. "Does he mean to kill us where we stand?"

"No, Master Dwarf, he means to feed you."

"Well then…it's about time," he grumbled.

"Please, follow me," Lindir requested and led the way up the staircase behind him. Knowing the others would be stubborn, Gandalf moved first.

"Lord Elrond," Lyra said falling behind and grabbing Thorin's arm to stop him. "I know he won't tell you himself, but Thorin is wounded. He took an arrow to the side. Please, can you have a healer look at him?" Thorin glared in annoyance at Lyra and was about to protest, when Elrond spoke first.

"Of course, Lady Lyra, if you'll both follow me," he said gesturing to the adjoining path from the staircase.

"How did you know my name?" Lyra asked feeling frozen in her tracks. Thorin, too, looked very surprised of the elf knowing of her.

"You do not think you're the only one gifted in foresight, do you?" he asked with a hint of mirth in his otherwise monotone voice. "We've been expecting you." Lyra didn't know if that answer made her feel more at ease or more nervous, but regardless, she ushered Thorin forward as Elrond directed them along the pathway to a blue building with dark brown trim.

The inside of the building had high ceilings with fabric partitions and several single occupant beds. It was clearly a healing house of sorts, the table in the center of the room held an assortment or ornamented bottles and herbs hung from a rack.

"Lord Elrond, what can I do for you?" A beautiful woman whose height was easily a foot taller than Lyra's moved from behind one of the screens. She wore a dark orange dress with delicately embroidered details and her hair was a dazzling red.

"Elbereth, please tend to these two, they've had an unfortunate journey. When they are ready, please have them join the others in the top balcony of the main house."

"Yes my lord," Elbereth said bowing. Elrond left the room without another word and Lyra watched him go feeling in complete awe of the elf. "Please, have a seat," Elbereth invited. Thorin didn't move so Lyra shoved him by the shoulder until he relented and sat on the edge of the bed he was directed to. "Are you not injured?" the elf maid asked Lyra.

"No, I'm alright, I'm just here to make sure he cooperates," Lyra replied. Elbereth nodded, the faint line of a smile illuminating her brown eyes.

"Then let's see to it, please, let me see the wound." Thorin intentionally didn't look Lyra's way as he shed his fur lined cloak, tunic shirt, and chainmail leaving him in his off white under shirt that stuck to his left side where blood had stained it. Elbereth didn't waste time lifting the fabric away from the wound and kneeling to inspect it. "This will need to go," she said standing and indicating his remaining top. "It's an ugly cut, no doubt from an orc arrow by the rough edges. It'll need cleaning and a few stitches."

"But it's not poisoned?" Lyra asked before she could get distracted by Thorin who had pulled the thin fabric over his head exposing his broad shoulders, muscular chest and toned abdomen that sported the thick dust of dark hair.

"No, you're fortunate. Orcs are nasty creatures, this could have been much worse," Elbereth said completely unfazed by the half-naked dwarf and his ability to make the air around him grow hotter. "Drink this," she said handing a glass to him from the table.

"What is it?" he asked accusingly as he looked into the chalice.

"Wine, Master Dwarf," Elbereth defended. "It's not poisoned _either_." He glanced up at Lyra who glared at him as if to say, 'stop being difficult'. Again, he seemed to let his resolve be chipped at and he complied by taking a drink. "Miss, there is water if you would like to wash," Elbereth offered. Lyra looked down at herself and realized her hands, arms, and chest were covered in blood from the warg. It had nearly dried, but the entrance through the water had remoistened it.

"Please," Lyra accepted and followed her behind the screen to a partially secluded section of the room complete with bed, table with a pitcher of water, towels and soap.

"If you surrender your pack, I can send for a clean dress and have your things washed and sent to the guest chambers."

"That's the nicest offer I've had in months," Lyra said and handed the woman her backpack but kept her guitar with her. Elbereth left her to undress and Lyra poured the water into the large bowl on the table.

"You're too trusting," Thorin called. Though they couldn't see one another due to the screen, they were only across the room from each other.

"You're too cynical," Lyra countered as she peeled her shirt off. She felt nervous to set her wet and bloody things on the white linens of the bed, so she tried to carefully place them on the marble floor.

"You don't know the elves the way I do. Fair faced and cunning, they care only for themselves. These immortal bastards are far too high on themselves."

"Didn't they teach you manners in the Blue Mountains?" Lyra asked as she wiped her arms and chest clean with the damp cloth. She dipped it back into the water, staining the clear liquid a reddish brown.

"I save my civility for those that deserve it," Thorin said hearing water trickling into a basin. Peeking his head to see just beyond the screen, Lyra was standing with her bare back to him, the soft indent of her spine extending from the base of her neck and to her pant line. She was sponging her shoulders and using the lathered soap to wash the blood off. He felt guilty knowing she'd slain the warg. He'd meant to spare her from any combat, but they'd been overtaken too quickly.

"Well consider it a favor to me, then. Please be nice," Lyra requested back and began to turn around. He jolted back to an upright position to avoid being spotted.

"Ahem." He looked startled as Elbereth had appeared back in the doorway. He dropped his eyes in shame as he'd been caught, the elven woman's eyebrow raised knowingly at him. "My lady?" Elbereth asked stepping around the screen. She turned to cast a slight glare at Thorin as she pulled it farther closed. "We've several dresses for our mortal guests; I hope this will suit you."

"Thank you," Lyra said appreciatively taking the folded bundle from her. Elbereth excused herself again and closed the screen doorway behind her and began tending to Thorin.

The dress was a pale pink with copper and green embroidered vine-like trim around the thick straps, v-shaped neckline, and the sweeping bottom. It was sleeveless and the back was sheer; the cool fabric was glorious against her skin after feeling the itch of her wet clothes.

There was no mirror in the room so she had to blindly tie her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She washed her face and used the now stained towel to clean the dirt and blood off her boots. Leaving her dirty things folded on the ground, she stepped beyond the canopy and saw Thorin still sitting on the bed, but now his side was bandaged properly. Elbereth had gone to discard the bloody linens.

"Does it hurt?" she asked and he pulled his eyes up to her. Lyra watched his eyes trail from her feet up her body before settling on her face.

"You look…"

"Ridiculous?" she teased and took the cup of wine he'd been drinking from and sipped it. She gagged a little, "God they like their wine sweet," she said and handed it back to him. As he reached for it, she got a better view of the tattoo on his right shoulder and bicep.

The black ink was shaped into a sword with a knotted square at the handle and a curved cross guard. It was layered over the hilt with a similar symbol to the omega sign with a flat base. The tip of the sword was buried into a four point spiked star and underneath was a layered crown.

He caught her looking at it and held his arm out to her and she sat on the bed next to him, "The seal of my namesake," he said touching the knotted square, "the sword represents the weapon I was best trained in; this circle is a master blacksmith's symbol, the star is for warriors, and the crown is for the line of Durin's succession," he explained.

"I got this one for my parents," Lyra said turning her back to him and lifting her left arm. With the sheer fabric, he was able to see the symbol tattooed under her shoulder blade on her side. "The treble clef is a musical symbol for my mom, the feather in the center was for my dad. His company in the military was called the Sparrows. It seemed fitting."

"You honor them," he said, his thumb brushing the mark. Lyra shivered involuntarily and turned back to face him. Whether she meant to or not, she couldn't take her eyes off his lips.

"Before… I was going to say, you look…"

"Here you are Master Dwarf," Elbereth interrupted and Lyra flew to her feet. The elf had returned with a second bundle of clothing, clearly a shirt and trousers.

"Now we can both look ridiculous," Lyra chided as she moved away from him.

"We'll be right outside. When you're dressed, I can reunite you with your companions. They're just now sitting down to eat," Elbereth said and placed a hand on Lyra's shoulder to guide her out of the house. They took a few steps down the path before pausing to wait.

"Thank you for tending to him," Lyra said politely. "He'd have let himself bleed to death before he asked for help."

"I am happy to be of service. You must care a great deal for your husband."

"H-husband?" Lyra asked and started laughing nervously, "Thorin isn't my husband. Not even close!"

"My mistake, my lady," Elbereth said bowing her head in apology, but there was a glimmer of mischief in the air. A moment later Thorin joined them dressed in a dark blue shirt and black pants. He'd donned his bracers again and still carried his sword, but had left his other things behind. "This way please." They quietly followed her back down the path and up the stairs the others had taken earlier.

"Do you think they sell postcards here?" Lyra asked hoping to break the tense silence between them.

….

"I don't like green food…" Ori was saying holding a leaf of lettuce. He tossed it back onto his plate and put his chin in his hand in disappointment.

"How you all haven't died of scurvy, I'll never know," Lyra said observing the table. "I for one am glad to be eating something that isn't soaked in gravy!" The elves had arranged a meal on the uppermost balcony on the eastern side of the lodging. A long table with benches on either side sat eleven dwarves and the hobbit. Gandalf was already seated at a smaller round table with Elrond off to the side

"Are you insulting my cooking?" Bofur asked in feigned insult.

"Never, Bofur, you're a wonderful cook, but I don't think you'll be getting any Micheline stars," Lyra replied as Elrond pulled out a chair for her. She nodded her thanks.

"Lyra, you look lovely," Gandalf complimented.

"Thank you. Thorin said I looked ridiculous," Lyra commented as she took a drink of the sugar sweet wine.

"I did not," Thorin protested. Elrond pulled a chair out from the table next to Lyra to sit, but Thorin brusquely sat down in his place. Elrond looked at Gandalf to convey his annoyance and the wizard looked apologetic. "I was attempting to give you a compli…"

"You said you've been running since dawn," Elrond interjected as he took the last remaining chair at the small table. "Where were you camped before?"

"On the eastern road, near the foothills. We encountered three mountain trolls there," Gandalf answered.

"Trolls?" Elrond asked in shock. "So far from the north? I can scarce believe it."

"Send a few riders, you'll find their stone forms not far from the path," Gandalf suggested. "We stumbled across quite the treasure hoard. I believe you may recognize these." He unbuckled his sword and handed it over. Elrond took the blade in his hands and unsheathed it.

"I have seen this blade, it is Glamdring, forged by Turgon in the first age. This is a wonderful treasure indeed." As he handed it back, Thorin passed over his own jeweled scabbard. "Glamdring's sister blade," Elrond breathed, "Orcrist…they thought this blade lost in the fall of Gondolin. They say she will never dull, you've found a worthy blade, Thorin Oakenshield."

"Don't look at me," Lyra said when Elrond fixed her with expectant eyes, "I didn't take anything for myself."

"No trophy of conquest?" Elrond asked, "defeating three trolls is no minor feet."

"Well I had a _little_ , help," she teased and Elrond smiled. His teeth were effortlessly straight and white. Everything about the elf looked as though it were carved from marble and enchanted with speech.

Around them two flutists and a harpist were playing and made the setting slightly more uncomfortable for the guests. The contrast between the ethereal elves and the homely dwarves was like watching Larry the Cable Guy sit down to dinner with Queen Elizabeth.

"Show him the map," Gandalf urged and Thorin's jaw clenched. "Thorin, you sit in the presence of one of the few remaining scholars in Middle Earth that can interpret these signs. Do not let your stubbornness be your undoing.

"I'm afraid Gandalf is right, I can't help you with," Lyra stated. "At best I can tell you what it says, but I'll never be able to tell you what it means."

"It is the legacy of my people, take great care in viewing it," Thorin said menacingly as he withdrew the parchment and handed it to Elrond.

"I see…Erebor," Elrond stated as he looked over the map. "You were right to bring this to me. This map does contain secrets. But I cannot read it."

"What a shame," Thorin said sarcastically. "And here I thought you were qualified." Lyra kicked him under the table.

"I _am_ Master Dwarf. When I say I cannot read it, it is not because of capability but of timing. You see, there a moon runes, just here," he said pointing to the corner of the map. "But they can only be read by the light of the same moon they were written under. These were written on a midsummer's eve, my guess would be the crescent moon. Two weeks from now."

"Two weeks?" Thorin snapped and his eyes shot to Gandalf.

"We've prepared rooms down the hall for you; I imagine you'll want to rest. We can speak more in the morning," Elrond said directing the last comment to Thorin.

"We'll sleep here," Thorin stated plainly, his agitation still evident.

"Here…on the balcony?" Elrond asked incredulously. "I should think you'd be more comfortable…"

"We'll be more comfortable if we stay together." Thorin stood signaling he was finished with the conversation and moved over to the table with the other dwarves.

"I see, I'll send for some linens and pillows," Elrond said standing as well. Lyra gave him an apologetic look and he bowed his head to her. "Mithrandir, I would speak with you tonight if you've the strength."

"Of course Lord Elrond," Gandalf replied and touched a hand to Lyra's shoulder before following the elf Lord back the way they had come.

…..

Lyra was standing near the opening of the balcony, her arms wrapped around her torso as she stared at a painting that hung from the wall. It depicted an incredibly beautiful elven woman in a silver-blue gown, an ivy crown on her head with glimmering eyes and dark hair. She was embracing a man who wore a dark tunic, his ebony hair pulled into a knot and his broad shoulders enveloping her.

Lyra felt captivated by it. Never much for art before, this one was mesmerizing. The painting itself was masterfully created with rich colors and exquisite detail, but the subjects were what kept her staring. Although clearly one dimensional, the love expressed between them felt as real as the ground under her feet.

Night had fallen and the dwarves had all but moved in. They made quick work of raiding the kitchens and setting fire to three chairs. Lyra had intervened when they tried to climb on the statues, threatening to box them on the ears like children.

"Quite beautiful aren't they?" Gandalf asked as he approached her from behind. "Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that came down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which light endures. The fairest still the tale of Beren and Lúthien."

"Are there any great love stories from your home?" Bofur asked Lyra and she moved from the painting to sit near the fire with them.

"Some," she said drinking from the cup she was offered. "Romeo and Juliet is always a favorite." Several pairs of expectant eyes were watching her. "They were young, Romeo was from a family called the Montagues and at a banquet he saw and fell in love with a beautiful girl named Juliet who was a Capulet. Their families were fighting and refused to let them marry, but they ran off together and were married in secret."

"How romantic, love conquers all," Ori sighed and Lyra laughed.

"You know what…" she leaned over and grabbed her guitar, "if anyone asks I swear I'll deny it, but wouldn't you know, the _one_ Taylor Swift song I learned…"

 _We were both young when I first saw you  
I close my eyes and the flashback starts  
I'm standing there on a balcony in summer air_

 _See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns  
See you make your way through the crowd  
And say hello_

 _Little did I know  
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles  
And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"  
And I was crying on the staircase  
Begging you, please, don't go_

 _And I said,_

 _"Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone  
I'll be waiting, all that's left to do is run  
You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess  
It's a love story, baby just say yes_

 _So I sneak out to the garden to see you  
We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew  
So close your eyes, escape this town for a little while  
'Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter  
And my daddy said "Stay away from Juliet"  
But you were everything to me, I was begging you, please, don't go_

 _And I said Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone  
I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run  
You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess  
It's a love story baby just say yes_

 _Romeo save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel  
This love is difficult, but it's real  
Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess  
It's a love story, baby just say "Yes"_

 _Oh, oh_

 _I got tired of waiting  
Wondering if you were ever coming around  
My faith in you was fading  
When I met you on the outskirts of town_

 _And I said_

 _"Romeo save me, I've been feeling so alone  
I keep waiting for you but you never come  
Is this in my head? I don't know what to think"_

 _He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said  
"Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone  
I love you and that's all I really know  
I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress  
It's a love story, baby just say yes"_

 _'Cause we were both young when I first saw you._

"Although the song isn't entirely accurate," Lyra said when she'd finished.

"What do you mean?" Ori asked, "didn't they live 'happiliy ever after'?"

"Not exactly…you see Romeo murdered someone to stay with Juliet and he was banished. Juliet hatched a plot to fake her own death so she could be reunited with him in exile, but Romeo mistook her and thought she had really died. He drank poison and died at her feet. When Juliet woke up, she saw her dead husband and drove a knife into her heart."

"Well that's… depressing," Gloin stated.

"I feel I may cry," Ori commented.

"It's not all bad," Lyra said quickly, "because of their sacrifice their people were finally at peace. So, you know…even though they didn't live long lives together; their love still served a purpose. Love always serves a purpose, even if it ends."

"Is that what you _really_ think?" Thorin asked from across the dais. He'd been salty all evening and was nursing his own glass of wine from the corner. "You'd choose a love you knew was doomed to fail?"

"Failure is subjective, but if you mean would I love someone I knew I wouldn't spend the rest of my life with, yeah I guess I would."

"That's rather reckless, don't you think?" Thorin asked as he pushed off the wall and stepped closer.

"You forget I was married once before…"

"I haven't forgotten." The dwarves were looking back and forth between the two like watching a ball at a Ping-Pong tournament. "You're saying you wouldn't change your failed matrimony if you could?"

"Again…" Lyra said starting to feel just as aggravated as Thorin looked, "failure is _subjective_ , but since you asked so politely, no I wouldn't change my marriage. I was young when I married him and we were in the middle of a war, not exactly conditions for any responsible decision making, but it taught me a hell of a lot that I wouldn't have learned otherwise. Maybe _you_ could benefit from a lesson or two."

"Like what? That love conquers all?" He was patronizing her now and Lyra stood feeling the heat of anger rise in her. "How did that lesson fair for you _Romeo and Juliet_. They both ended up dead."

"In the _end_ it was for the greater good. So I bet they'd do it all over again!"

"They'd be just as stupid as the first time they fell in love."

"So anyone who loves another is stupid? Good thing your _parents_ didn't feel that way. You wouldn't be here to argue with!"

"Their love was pure. It had a purpose."

"So did Romeo and Juliet's!"

"I don't see how _any_ greater good was served."

"Well you can't see past the end of your own nose, so that's not saying much!"

"And for someone who can _see_ the future, you should have known it wouldn't take death to end _your_ marriage!"

The funny thing about cruel words: they roll so easily from the tongue sometimes, you forget just how fast and hard they hit their mark. For a moment the only sound was the crackling fire. Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but Lyra held a halting hand up to him.

"You're right," she said in a suddenly calm and cold voice as she wiped away an angry tear. "No one died. Maybe it would have been an easier outcome than returning from war to find my husband had fallen in love with another woman who was pregnant with his child. He didn't die and I didn't die, I often wonder if he expected me to. But our marriage died. Our love died. And that deserves no less grief than if one of us _had._ " She stepped around the group of dwarves and Fili reached for her hand.

"Lyra," he said but she pulled away.

"Excuse me, I've been embarrassed enough for one night," she said quietly and moved into the hall. "Can you show me to my room, please," she asked the guard who nodded and abruptly turned.

"It's not safe," Thorin called to her. "Someone should go with you."

Lyra paused to look back at him. Her green eyes were uncommonly vulnerable, stained red with restrained tears and shooting every ounce of hurt she felt into him. "I'd rather be alone."

With her final words still heavy in the air despite her quiet voice, thirteen sets of eyes looked from her disappearing form back to Thorin. No one spoke, but he felt the reprimand of all of them. Downing the last of his wine, he hurled the cup over the balcony in anger and stormed off the opposite way into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Guy I owe you a big apology. I owed you this chapter yesterday. You were amazing leaving me wonderful reviews and corrections and I dropped the ball. I read through the chapter before I posted and just wasn't happy with it. I think I've written it four times and finally I just have to leave it. I did this same thing with chapter 3, I just can't get to a point where I feel satisfied with it. I am sorry it's so late! I will do better posting this week!**

 **Also, I had a couple requests and though I normally don't do this, I felt I owed it. I have posted a few links on my profile that I have based a few ideas from this story on including Lyra and Thorin's tattoo. I also keep a playlist of the song I post. I usually listen to them on repeat while I'm editing chapters. I will continue to update the playlist as the story progresses. Much love!**

Lyra had just finished towel drying her hair when there was a knock at the door to the room she was staying in. Having started her morning with her fifth bath in as many days, she was beginning to enjoy the luxury of a warm place to sleep as opposed to her dirty sleeping bag. Although she was comfortable in the sweeping gowns she was provided, this day's being a soft amethyst color with a leather bodice, she was growing concerned as to where her belongings were. Elbereth, the healer, had taken her pack to see that her things we washed, but that was nearing a week ago on the day of their arrival.

"Lady Lyra," Elrond said from the other side of the door and she opened it for him. "Good morning," he said bowing his head and she returned the gesture, "will you have a walk with me?" The elven Lord hadn't been seen in several days, keeping private company with Gandalf who was also making himself scarce and Lyra was more than relieved to see him.

"Of course, Lord Elrond," she said as she exited the room and he began leading the way to the high levels of the haven. "You and Gandalf have been secretive lately," she observed.

"Secretive? Perhaps, but unconsciously so," he replied, his hands clasped behind his back. "You've presented a mystery to us that we've been discussing."

"My arrival in Middle Earth?"

"Your arrival, yes, but magic is often strange. What I was referring to was the kiss of Iluvatar that rests on you." Lyra stopped in her tracks and looked at him quizzically. Elrond was grinning. "Come now, I will explain," he said extending an arm to her. She took it and followed him up a spiral set of staircases that led to the highest tower in Rivendell.

The circular shaped tower overlooked the entirety of the city. In the early hours of dawn, it was breathtaking. The city shone with a golden light, the gardens below casting emerald hues onto the turrets below. The many waterfalls gave the air a crisp freshness that purged her lungs.

In the center of the room was a round table of white stone with six high-backed chairs of carved wood surrounding it. To Lyra's surprise, sitting on the table, was the ebony Singing Bell that Goldenberry had given to her.

"You must forgive me," Elrond said picking the bowl up and holding it in one large, long-fingered hand. "When he servants were washing your things, they discovered this. Recognizing the uncommon runes, they brought it directly to me."

"It was a gift, from…a friend," Lyra said warily.

"There's no need for secrets, here, Lyra," Elrond said and set the bowl down on the table before pulling out the chair in front of it for her to sit in. "I mean to return it to you." Lyra sat and found her hands reaching for the bowl and wand without a second thought.

"I take it you know more about these than Gandalf?" she asked as Elrond moved behind her. He returned with a glass of wine in a chalice and a silver pitcher of water.

"I do," he said and directed her to drink. She complied. "When Iluvatar created The Holy Ones, the Ainur, he did so with the power of song. These immortal creations then lifted their own voices in harmony and from them, all life sprang forth like a mighty symphony of voices." As Elrond spoke, Lyra could almost see the bursts of light in her mind and hear the voices that sang. "The harmony was eternal as it predates time itself. The song continues still, ever echoing across the mighty seas and buried in the foundations of the earth.

"Through the Music of Ainur, Iluvatar created a Vision. It is believed that from that moment, Iluvatar saw all the ages of Middle Earth; every seed that would sprout, every mountain that would crumble, every star that would grow dim and every life that was to be born. He saw all of this, and was pleased. He was unable to impart his omniscience to the Ainur, but he shared glimpses of this Vision, entrusting his wisest and most powerful lieutenants with keeping this Vision and seeing that it stayed its course.

"The greatest of these, the Valar and the Maiar, descended to the earth and oversaw the creation of Iluvatar's children, Elf-Kind and Men. The Ainur that descended in the beginning are bound to the earth until its end. They remain, agents of the Music, servants of the Vision, always calling, their voices rising in chorus, beckoning, always influencing like the gale that guides a ship. This, I believe, to the be reason _you_ are here."

"You think the Ainur called me here?" Lyra asked feeling overwhelmed. It was as though she'd spent months blindly putting together a jigsaw puzzle and now as the final pieces were being put into place, she was stunned by the picture that was created.

"Yes," he said shortly. "We have spoken much these last days, the details of your journey came together, and it took our combined wisdom to solve the mystery, but here we have it." Elrond was standing next to her now and took the silver pitcher and poured the clear water into the Resting Bell.

"By 'we', you mean you and Gandalf?" Elrond set the pitcher down, his eyes focused across the room. Lyra followed his gaze and moved quickly to her feet as she saw two white-clad figures in the doorway. The first was the glorious presence of Galadriel, her soft smile beaming at Lyra. The second, a lithe figure with hollowed cheeks and a white pointed beard with a staff in hand could only be Saruman, the white wizard.

"Among other things, it has been a most illuminating meeting of the White Counsel," Saruman said leading the way to the table. His voice was thick and sharp, like molasses pouring over broken glass.

"It is good to see you again," Galadriel said lowering her eyes for a moment. Lyra gave a clumsy curtsey, unsure of the protocol, which seemed to amuse Galadriel who sat in the chair next to her.

"This meeting is long overdue," Gandalf said entering behind them and sitting across from Saruman and to Lyra's left. Elrond took his place at the far side of the table between the two wizards and Lyra couldn't help feeling incredibly small an inadequate to be seated among such elite.

"We have seen your journey through the portal of the Maiar, the Blue Wizards, although… _eccentric_ , have accomplished a very great thing," Elrond stated, folding his hands on the table. "Their meeting you, was no coincidence, though I suspect they weren't aware of that at the time."

"What did you mean by 'Iluvatar's Kiss'?" Lyra inquired feeling her voice was quite frail in the presence of the given company.

"Iluvatar remains outside of the realm of Middle Earth, his being far too powerful," Saruman stated, his eyes giving her chills, "In history, we know of only twice when Eru has interceded. The first, when the first men were awoken from the earth during the Time of the Trees. The second time, the Valar called upon him to intervene when the shores were overrun by Ar-Pharazon, the disgrace of the Numenor. Iluvatar buried his armies and called to the Undying Lands, removing them from this realm and into his own eternal presence."

"These moments in history, when no other explanation can be offered, we call the Kiss of Iluvatar," Galadriel finished. Her voice a welcome interruption from Saruman's. "Your coming is a great crescendo in the chorus of creation. Iluvatar has seen all but the Vision has been disrupted. The Ainur have called and their call has been answered with one who can set things right."

"Me?" Four sets of eyes nodded slowly.

"You are more than capable, my dear," Gandalf encouraged. "You would not be here if you weren't. I don't believe in coincidence nor to I believe in mistakes when great wisdom is behind it. Your foresight is exactly what's needed."

"But I don't have foresight," Lyra admitted but they didn't look fazed. "I know of things that can happen, but that's because of what I've ready, not because of anything I've done."

"There are many kinds of foresight," Elrond said. "Some see visions, some dream, others intuitively know. You have been given this…" he said indicating the bowl.

"I don't even know how to use it."

"That brings us to the next point of our meeting," Elrond conducted and Galadriel handed the small stone wand to Lyra.

"The inscription around the outside," she said trailing a finger along the edge of the rune. "Few can read it, because it is not words…"

"…It's music," Lyra concluded and Galadriel looked at her with pride. "How do I play it?"

"That I fear only you can answer. We are the Maiar and the Children of Iluvatar, you, dear one, are the child of the Ainur, the keepers of song. Its power will only work for you."

"Yeah…no pressure." Lyra looked at the four faces who were watching her expectantly. Taking the wand in her right hand, she began trailing the side around the rim in a clockwise motion. At first there was only a scraping noise due to the friction, but when she lightened her touch, a deep humming began to reverberate. She paused, but at the feeling of urgency, she began again right away.

Almost immediately she noted that the different parts of the wand caused the bowl to make different notes. Closer to the tip, the chords were high and sharp, as she brushed nearer the handle the tones were low and made the water pulse with ripples.

As her pace quickened, experimenting with notes and combinations of sounds, a tune began to weave its way into her mind and the splatter of water from the center of the waves took on shape. Her fingers tickled and her heart felt light, her eyes were wide and something like static washed through her ears. The shapes in the water became clearer as she felt the drone burn in her chest, her voice humming along as though in a trance.

 _There was a garden in a courtyard. Dark ivy with glowing white flowers covered a stone fence and at the base was a bench where someone sat…a man…Thorin. He was wearing a black shirt with a high collar, his hands were resting in his lap as though he were waiting for someone. He looked up as a second figure appeared before him. Wearing the same purple dress she wore that day, Lyra saw herself standing in front of the dwarf. She sat next to him on the bench and they looked as though they were speaking in soft tones. In the image, Lyra's hand came to rest on Thorin's and he took her small hand in his while his other reached to brush her cheek. His mouth formed into a soft smile before he leaned toward her and their lips met. The kiss was chaste at first, testing, as though asking permission, but when her own smile formed, their faces still close together, they met for a second and more passionate time._

The wand dropped to the table as it slipped from Lyra's hand and all at once the water stilled. Her now empty hand flew to her mouth as she could swear she still felt the kiss she had yet to have.

"What did you see?" Saruman asked and it took Lyra a moment to look up from the water.

With a hand still over her lips, she replied, "nothing…I just saw…shadows…of Erebor." No one at the table believed her. Looking to her right, she made eye contact with Galadriel and the woman's glowing expression heightened as their thoughts became one.

"Practice," Gandalf said abruptly interrupting the cerebral exchange. "You will need to practice, yes, like any magic. First, let us find something to eat," Gandalf said rising. He could tell Lyra was growing uncomfortable. She had quite the morning. The others followed suit and stood to walk back down the secret staircase.

"One more thing," Saruman said stopping Lyra. "Gandalf mentioned you had a book. A book that taught you the things of the future. I should very much like to see it." Though his tone was polite and even, she could sense a sinister plot behind his eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't have it anymore," she said holding the Singing Bowl close. "I burnt it. In Bree. Before we began our journey." He starred hard at her for a painfully long moment trying to assess her honesty.

"For the best, I'm sure," he said guiding her downstairs, but even the power of the white wizard couldn't conceal his annoyance.

…

Lyra was lost in her thoughts as Gandalf walked her back to her room after their evening meal. She'd been quiet all through breakfast, she'd been absent for lunch, and had spoken only seven words during dinner, 'I'm fine. It's nothing, Pass the salt?'

The meeting with the White Counsel that morning had left her jarred. The power that had emitted from the four was daunting enough, but the use of the Singing Bowl was indescribable. Since being in Middle Earth, she'd experienced the feel of magic around her, but this time she'd felt the magic _in_ her, it had flowed _through_ her. Like an echo. She'd made the first sound and it had resonated in the bowl and bounced back at her, magnified to a roar.

As she'd hummed her thoughts had wandered to what that evening held and that's when the vision had appeared. Her own future-self sitting with Thorin. Speaking with him. Kissing him…But that was impossible. She hadn't spoken to him in days, not since their very public argument. It was only the first two days she'd avoided him, but in the several to follow the dwarf has scarcely been seen. He was either coming or going, never settling in one place especially after Lyra entered the room. He had helped draw up a map of where they'd camped near the trolls, and the elves had set out to pillage the remains of the cave to see if any other ancient weapons were to be found, but that was the last she'd heard of it.

What made matters worse was that the others were treating her differently. They were walking on eggshells and over zealously attending her; bringing her wine, bringing her food, asking for music or singing for her, making too many jokes and smiling awkwardly.

It wasn't that she was _trying_ to be antisocial, but lately solitude was her only comfort. Since the reality of her adventure had set in she'd adamantly been looking forward to seeing Rivendell even knowing there was a possibility they wouldn't reach it. But since arriving, the elven city had felt more like a museum than a harbor.

Every inch of the cold sandstone walls were carved and etched with more attention to detail than artwork, the centurion figures looming in doorways more heavily armed than security guards, and angelic figures clad in silken dresses and embroidered tunics were like the Seraphim and Cherubim of Italian cysteines. It was beautiful; frighteningly so. It made her long for the days around the campfire with the dwarves, merrily swapping songs and stories and drinking ale that was too strong.

It seemed nothing could snap her from her thoughts until Gandalf spoke, "Saruman," and like a rush Lyra was suddenly very alert. "You told him you burned the book in Bree, was that the truth?"

"No," Lyra said stopping at the doorway. "I didn't burn it, but I don't have it with me either. I felt it was too dangerous to have with me. I left it with Brynmund in Tharbad." Gandalf smiled at her.

"You see," he said in a fatherly tone, "even without magic you are very wise." Lyra returned the smile, and for some reason let the emotion overtake her, and she hugged him. The security she felt in the wizard was constant. Despite the coldness she felt in Rivendell, she was warmed with the presence of her friend. Chuckling for a moment, he returned the gesture and held her tightly. "Try to get some rest, my dear, things always look better in the morning." She gave him a genuine smile as they parted and she slipped inside her room.

The Singing Bowl was placed carefully on the table and she moved toward it when something else caught her eye. Her backpack was on the bed and piled next to it were all of her clothes folded pristinely and smelling fresh. She carefully tucked them back into her bag and noticed something else. Behind her bag was a plane wooden box. Pulling it toward her, she lifted the lid.

The first thing she noticed was a long stemmed white gardenia. Its fragrance tickled her nose. Underneath she recognized a sword… _her_ sword, but it had been re-forged. The steel was longer and the edge of the blade was sharper. Engraved into the strong end were dwarven runes and the tip was broader like a scimitar. The previously leather-bound hilt was wrapped in cool black metal in a knotwork pattern and the pommel had a solid ruby stone that when she held it up to the candlelight looked like it was on fire.

Swinging the blade from side to side, it hisses through the air and made her smile. It was a beautiful weapon. But who had… _Thorin_.

The white flower suddenly reminded her of the vision where she'd seen him sitting. Setting the weapon back in the box she ran from the room down the hall and to one of the guards who stood patrolling the balcony.

"Can you show me the garden where these flowers grow?" she asked and the guard looked at it for a moment and she followed him as he took her down to the lower levels.

"There My Lady," the male guard said pointing over a stone bridge. She said her thanks and, with butterflies in her stomach, crossed and passed by a trickling waterfall before stepping down a few more stairs. There, across the small platform, sat Thorin staring at his hands. Déjà vu was an understatement. But she needed to know…

"One hell of an apology," she called to him and he looked up, an unfamiliar expression on his face. "If that's what it was meant as…" Thorin saw Lyra standing in the archway framed in draping vines and the glowing white gardenias that bloomed. While they'd seen each other in the last week, even shared a few civil words, she hadn't met his eyes a single time. Whether in anger or embarrassment, he'd felt a pain of missing her mischievous glances, her hard stares, her eye rolls and winks. She stood now, adorned in gown, eyes locked on his and she looked _anything_ but ridiculous.

He'd commandeered the elven forge and spent the last two days working to perfect the blade he'd started for her months ago in Bree. When the elves returned from their raid of the Troll Cave, he'd selected the ruby from the stockpile of gems. Having an eye for perfection, he picked the flawless stone to counterweigh the blade. Hoping the gesture would at least earn him an audience with her, he stuffed his pride and spoke what he needed to say.

"What I said to you was unforgivable and I'll make no excuses for it," he said standing to his feet to greet her. "But I will ask it…I ask that you forgive me."

"Well I don't know," she said walking toward him and sitting on the bench and he sat beside her. "Can you make a matching dagger?"

"If you like," he replied but knew she was teasing. "Perhaps an axe too. Maybe I could cut one of these trees down, fashion you a bow…" he started tugging on one of the vines making Lyra laugh and pull his arm back down.

"See now you're just bragging," she goaded and her hand found his at it rested in his lap. He paused, her delicate fingers lingering over his, and he covered her hand, gripping her palm tightly.

"What do the runes on the sword mean?"

"They read Duzkak Khan. The Heart Seeker. May your sword always strike true."

"I couldn't have picked a better name."

"Say you forgive me, I would have peace with you," he said almost pleadingly.

"I do forgive you, if you'll make me a promise," she said softly, locking eyes with him, her grip tightening on his hand.

"Name it."

"Don't ever make me feel ashamed of myself again."

"By Mahal, I swear to you, I'll never by intent dishonor you."

"I forgive you, sincerely. Thank you for the sword. Your skill is underrated. I've never seen such a beautiful blade," she complimented, very aware that their hands were still entwined.

"Any craftsman knows, the finest and loveliest creations come from inspiration," he stated.

"I didn't think _you_ of all people would be inspired by Rivendell. It _is_ an elven city," she laughed but was silenced as his hand moved from hers to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her face.

"That's not the beauty I spoke of. I don't care for these elvish statues, frail and delicate. I thought only of you…" his voice was deeper than usual. "Your face…it's been too many days since you've looked on me with those eyes."

She smiled, thinking there was no better feeling than his warm hand on her cheek. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, I missed you too…" It was now or never. She didn't know if she was going to hate herself for this or not… He leaned toward her, his mouth only a breath from hers. Her hand pressed against his chest, halting him.

"It's late," she said swallowing the lump in her throat. "Will you walk me to my room?" He searched her face and finding her expression soft but unyielding, he nodded and stood. She joined him and linked her arm through his as they silently took the return path toward her room.

"The others miss you," he said when they'd reached the door. "They won't speak of it to you. There's comfort and luxuries Mahal knows we can't provide you on the road. But they miss you. _We_ miss you."

"You're going to make me cry again," she teased and dropped her eyes. "Before…" she turned to face him, "maybe we could continue that conversation another time?" Her stomach was threatening to leap through her throat and she knew Thorin understood her meaning. He lifted her hand to his mouth, placing a warm kiss on the back.

"I look forward to many a conversation with you," he flirted. The level of strength it took for her not to grab him right there was immense. She opened the door behind her and slipped inside without uttering another word.

Her hand flew to her stomach in effort to stop the butterflies. It had nearly killed her to push him away and almost every instinct in her to let him kiss her…to kiss him back. But she had to know… The Singing Bowl had shown her a vision of the future and it had played out exactly the way she'd seen it. Except the kiss. She'd been able to stop it. Which means things weren't set in stone. Should the Singing Bowl give her awful visions, she was able to affect change. That thought brought a smile to her face.

With Thorin's absence the room felt even colder than before. Barely giving it a second thought, she finished packing up her bag with her belongings and slung it over her shoulder. Taking her guitar and tucking the box with her sword in it under her arm, she grabbed one of the heavy fur pillows off the bed and threw the door open.

"Oh," she said startled to see Thorin still standing there. He looked as though he were lifting his hand to knock when she'd burst from the room. He smiled from ear to ear seeing she was packed and ready to rejoin the company.

The two were still laughing about it when they stepped onto the balcony where the others were still camping. They were gathered around the fire having finally disassembled a table. Their conversation stopped and twelve pairs of eyes gaped at them.

"What?" Lyra asked pushing her way into the group and setting her bag down next to Thorin's. "Beds are too damn soft. Kili, close your mouth. Bombur, pass me a bowl of the…awful smelling stew."

"Goo to have you back, Lass," Balin said smiling and the warmth of the group filled her. The laughter soon returned and when Lyra's stomach was full she pulled out her guitar.

I knew you were  
You were gonna come to me  
And here you are,  
But you better choose carefully  
'Cause I, I'm capable of anything  
Of anything, and everything  
Make me your Aphrodite  
Make me your one and only  
But don't, make me your enemy  
Your enemy  
Your enemy

So you wanna play with magic?  
Boy, you should know what you're falling for  
Baby, do you dare to do this?  
'Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse  
Are you ready for, ready for  
A perfect storm, perfect storm?  
'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine  
There's no going back! (Hey!)

Mark my words  
This love will make you levitate  
Like a bird, like a bird without a cage  
We're down to earth,  
If you choose to walk away  
Don't walk away.  
It's in the palm of your hand now baby  
It's a yes or a no  
No maybe, so just be sure  
Before you give it up to me  
Up to me, give it up to me

So you wanna play with magic?  
Boy, you should know what you're falling for  
Baby, do you dare to do this?  
Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse  
Are you ready for, ready for  
A perfect storm, perfect storm?  
'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine  
There's no going back!

So you wanna play with magic?  
Boy, you should know what you're falling for  
Baby, do you dare to do this?  
Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse  
Are you ready for, ready for  
A perfect storm, perfect storm?  
'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine  
There's no going back!

It seemed she was making up for lost time. Lyra hadn't taken her eyes off him the entire song.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Thank you amazing reviewers. You were so encouraging and patient with my MANY unedited typos last chapter. 5 reviews in one day means here's another chapter!**

Lyra stood next to Balin at Thorin's back as Elrond held the map over an illuminated table. The warm night was cloudless and the sky shone with a brilliant crescent moon and constellations Lyra didn't recognize. They were exchanging nervous glances as Gandalf looked over the elf's shoulder.

"These runes are nearly 200 years old. Very near the time Smaug first attacked your home," Elrond said with his keen eyes still focused on the glowing runes. "It speaks of instructions… ' _Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks…with the last light of Durin's Day, will shine upon the keyhole._ '. What key?" Elrond asked.

"An heirloom," Thorin answered shortly and turned to Balin. "We've only until Durin's Day, that doesn't give us much time."

"We'll make it," Lyra said reassuringly and he nodded.

"Durin's day?" Bilbo asked and they all turned. The inquisitive hobbit was peeking around the corner of the doorway and both Lyra and Balin smiled at him.

"The start of the new year for us Dwarves," Balin answered.

"So now your plot unfolds," Elrond said folding the map and giving it back to Thorin. "I cannot condone your entering the mountain."

"I don't need your permission," Thorin declared tucking the map in the pocket of his cloak. "We depart in the morning, see that they're packed," he told Balin who hurried off.

"If you awaken that dragon it will wreak a terrible havoc," Elrond warned. "This is no lesser dragon. Smaug is a firedrake from the north, the last of the great dragons. His vengeance will have no mercy if he is awoken."

"You really speak to _me_ about what that dragon can do?" Thorin asked challengingly.

"He's already awake," Lyra spoke and all eyes shifted to her. "Lord Elrond, you speak as though we have a choice. I know the White Counsel has sensed the return of the Great Evil. Whether he's taken form yet or not, he has already enlisted Smaug. The dragon _will_ leave the Lonely Mountain sooner or later. It's unavoidable."

"You've _seen_ this?" Elrond asked referring to the visions in the Singing Bell.

"Not exactly," she admitted knowing that she wouldn't get away with a lie. "But I do _know_. Gandalf, tell him," Lyra said enlisting help.

"Oh well," Gandalf stuttered suddenly put on the spot. "Lord Elrond you've known my concerns for some time."

"Yes that dragon has long since been on your mind," Elrond agreed. He considered Lyra for a moment, "you are certain?"

"Whether you trust me or not, consider the odds. We know the dark lord is trying to return, you've all sensed it. Do you really think the enemy, as cunning and devious as he is, will not promise all the treasure hordes in Middle Earth to the dragon in exchange for his service?"

"This is not a decision for me to decide alone. The White Counsel must meet again…"

"I don't see how this quest concerns any of you," Thorin stated angrily. "That mountain belongs to the sons of Durin."

"They're not staking claim on the Lonely Mountain, Thorin," Lyra said stepping beside him. "There's more at play here. We're long past the idea that we can sneak past Smaug. One way or another, that dragon needs to be dealt with for the safety of all Middle Earth. _That_ quest, the elves may be able to help you with."

"I neither want nor need…" Lyra elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Let us speak with the Counsel," Lyra requested. "Let us at least try."

…

Thorin and Lyra stood facing the circular table where the week before she had learned of her purpose and ability. Now, in the hours just before dawn, she'd spoken with as much courage as she could to the four Guardians, pleading her case for their aid.

"This enemy cannot be avoided," Gandalf chimed in. "As protectors of Middle Earth it is our shame that we've waited this long to make a decision."

"The _shame_ ," Saruman interjected, "is that we're listening to this at all. The dragon has slumbered for over sixty years. He is not immortal. Eventually, his life will flicker and fade without ever having raised a conflict. I say we wait him out."

"Not all of us have an eternity to wait," Lyra defied. "The dwarves deserve to have their home reclaimed. You can either be a part of the solution or you can step out of the way." She didn't see it because her eyes were narrowed at Benedict Arnold, but Thorin was beaming with pride.

"Peace," Elrond said holding up a hand. "Saruman raises a valid point. You are not blessed with long life, it is true," Elrond validated, "but nor are you cursed with it. We remember the desolation that was wrought by the dragons Glaurung and Ancalagon in the First Age. Entire races of men and elves were driven to the brink of extinction. Riding into battle against another dragon is no small decision. You are concerned with reconciling your time; _we_ are tasked with the protection of all."

"That's why you need to ride now, if you wait, you're taking a risky bet," Lyra tried to reason. "The enemy is regrouping in Dol Guldur. The orcs of Guntabad are hunting us. Are you really going to sit back and watch?"

"Your urgency does you no credit," Saruman said standing and moving around to stand in front of her. "You are human; you do not see the world as we do. Middle Earth is not your concern. I speak for us all when I say, it is for the best. I say, let the dwarves return home to the Blue Mountains, leave the mountain alone." Lyra was about to kick him when Galadriel spoke.

"I was not aware, Saruman, that you were imparted with the task of speaking for _all_ of us." Her reprimand was perfectly timed. "We have given Lyra the tools to apply her foresight, are we now to undermine that ability?"

"Are we to blindly trust it?" Saruman challenged.

"It's not just urgent it's strategic. If the dwarves hold Erebor, their stronghold ensures us a fortress in the northern boarders should the enemy rally! And besides… _I_ trust her," Gandalf stated and Lyra smiled at him.

"Trust is not the question," Elrond added. "It is up to us to decide the best course. If the dragon truly must be challenged to establish defenses then I say we wait. Summer is fading and by time we launch a campaign, winter will be upon us. Not only will we face the threat of Smaug, but also the difficulties of the cold and acquiring supplies over the mountains."

"The forces of Lothlorien will rally," Galadriel offered. "Our warriors will be ready to ride by spring."

"No." The simple declaration drew everyone's eyes. Thorin stood, his fists balled at his sides. "This quest is _ours_. I will not delay for anything."

"Unless it is the decision of the Counsel to stop you." Lyra grabbed Thorin's arm to hold him back from slugging Saruman. "Regardless, I am of the mind Lyra is to remain here. In Rivendell. Under the careful watch of the Counsel."

"What?" Thorin and Lyra asked at the same time.

"You said yourself you were being pursued by the orcs of Guntabad, should they track you down it wouldn't be safe for you to fall into their hands."

"I'm inclined to agree," Elrond said and Saruman flashed a self-satisfied smirk. "You are young in your foresight, untrained and unable to put your knowledge into perspective. Take this time to train, to hone your ability. We delay only a year."

"We won't delay," Thorin said. "You won't keep us here."

"How do you propose to stop us," Saruman asked stepping into Thorin's face.

"There are _other_ factors that cause concern," Elrond stated.

"Like what?" Lyra asked desperately trying to pull Thorin backward but the dwarf stood like a boulder.

"If you don't speak it, Gandalf, I will," Elrond threatened.

"I have the utmost confidence in Thorin," Gandalf said as though he knew what Elrond was suspecting.

"What are you talking about?" Lyra asked feeling the White Wizard and Dwarf King were about to resort to violence.

"The throne of Erebor is Thorin's birthright."

"And that throne comes at a cost. Will you have him descend into madness the way his father and grandfather did."

"Itkit Ugrad!" Thorin cursed. Lyra looked helplessly to the Lady Galadriel who was sitting quietly, poised and knowing as they made eye contact.

 _Speak, Dear One._

Lyra nodded.

"Enough!" she yelled finally pushing between Thorin and Saruman. The room quieted. "This isn't doing any good. We've pled our case, Thorin, let's let them discuss amongst themselves." She looked hard into his eyes and he let out an angry sigh. "Gandalf, I know you have something to show the White Counsel so we'll leave you." Gandalf looked confused for a moment and Lyra widened her eyes and shifted her gaze to where she knew his secret pocket was.

"Oh yes, yes, that's right. I'd nearly forgotten. Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Saruman please let me beg for just a bit more of your time," Gandalf said standing.

"Where are you going," Saruman asked grabbing Lyra's arm as she made to walk past him with Thorin behind her.

"To bed, Saruman, us mortals need our sleep. I look forward to learning from your wisdom during my stay in Rivendell. As I understand it, you have _much_ experience with rare objects and seeing visions. Tell me," she said stepping closer and lowering her voice to a whisper. "Do you travel with the Stone of Palantir…or do you keep it locked away?" He released her arm abruptly as though she'd burned him and with a knowing smirk of her own, bowed.

"I'll keep them distracted," Gandalf whispered as the others took their seats again. "I'll meet you in the mountain pass in a few days' time." Lyra desperately wanted to hug him goodbye, but for the sake of avoiding suspicion, she refrained. Pulling Thorin out of the room by his hand and down the stairs they made it to the balcony with the others before he pulled her to a stop.

"What are you on about?" he asked feeling confused.

"We're leaving," she said quietly. "I'll distract the guard, get the others to pack. We need to be out of the city before dawn."

"I thought you were trying to convince the elves to help us," he said crossing his arms.

"No you were right; it's pointless to argue with them. I've never met a man other than Lord Elrond who can say 'yes' and 'no' at the same time. Wake the others," she instructed and made to move past him but he caught her by the waist and turned her back to face him.

"Say that again," he instructed. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Wake. The. Others."

"Not that part…"

"I'll slap you."

"Don't try to distract me. I want to hear it again." Lyra's jaw tightened as she tried to keep from smiling at the mirth in Thorin's eyes. "I can't hear you…"

"You were..."

"Hmm?"

" _Right_. You were right, happy now?" He released her waist and nodded.

"Very."

"Stubborn dwarves," she muttered and checked the hallway for the guard. "Excuse me," she called and the elf turned to her.

"What is it you need M'Lady?"

"The dwarves are hungry, could you have the kitchen send up some sausages?" He looked irritated but nodded. "Oh and some bread…and maybe a keg of wine. And then of course the hobbit will want cheese. I'd really like some chicken, or beef. Whatever's easiest."

"Anything _else_ My Lady?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Fruit. Yes fruit. That's all. Thank you!" Without waiting for an answer she closed the door. When she turned around she saw Thorin had already woken most of the others and they were quietly packing their things. "Bilbo," she said shook his shoulder.

"I'm awake," he said rolling over to face her. His face was downcast and he looked guilty. "I'm not coming with."

"Why not?" she asked in shock.

"I spoke with Elrond, he offered to let me stay on for a while before escorting me back."

"Bilbo, what about the quest? We need you!"

"No. No you don't."

"Bilbo…"

"Please, I get it. I'm nothing but a bother. It was a mistake to come. But I am glad that I've met you."

"Listen to me," Lyra said kneeling in front of him. "Your time will come when you prove to them and yourself what your worth is. It just hasn't come yet. Don't abandon us now."

"I-I-I've made up my mind, please don't try to persuade me." Thorin was standing over them now and she gave him a pleading look.

"Master Baggins, it's time to go," he directed.

"Bilbo is trying to stay here in Rivendell," Lyra whispered harshly. "Tell him we need him."

"Do we?"

"Thorin!"

"See, it's better for everyone if I just stay here." Lyra gave Thorin a glare.

"If he stays I stay," Lyra threatened as she stood to face off with Thorin. "We need him," she insisted. They stared at one another, challenging the other with their eyes, when Thorin finally yielded.

"Master Baggins, have you forgotten you signed a contract?" The dwarf asked looking down at the hobbit. "You are, by law, bound to serve this quest until completion. Are you prepared to forfeit your good name and reputation to remain in the company of the elves?"

"Well I…" he began, his mouth hanging open.

"What would Lobelia Sackville-Baggins say?" Lyra said in mock astonishment. Bilbo looked from her to Thorin and back again.

"Alright. I'm coming." He hopped to his very large feet and made quick work of packing his things.

"Thank you," Lyra said squeezing Thorin's hand. "I wouldn't insist if I didn't think it was important."

"You're sure we need him?"

"Would I lie to you?" she countered with a grin.

"I'd make you pay, if you did," he retorted.

"Empty threats," she said and kissed him on the cheek before racing over to her own things that were, fortunately, mostly still packed from when she'd left the guest room.

Thorin was smiling as the warmth of her kiss lingered on his skin and he watched her move away from him. He heard snickering to his left and saw Fili and Kili whispering to one another, exchanging elbow jabs and pointing to him as they had been watching. "Hurry up," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. Fili and Kili straightened up, their smiled disappearing as they scrambled to finish. "Move out!"

…

Rivendell was long behind them one the light of dawn crested the valley. They had successfully snuck from the city without alerting the guards, which was a feat in and of itself but they'd also managed to traverse the path to the Wilds before they could hear the echoes of horns behind them.

"Think they'll chase us down?" Bilbo asked looking down at the valley floor where they could barely make out the Homely House.

"They have bigger things to worry about," Lyra said wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Come on Bilbo, let's keep up." The forlorn hobbit cast one last longing look behind before gritting his teeth and moving forward.

…

They were five days on the road when they were camped at the base of the Misty Mountains. Their progress was slow moving making the days even longer now that they were on foot. Had they parted on better terms with the elves, they might have been granted horses. But Thorin had been right. The elves were selfish and were too high on themselves; believing only their own word above anyone else's.

"What is she always doing back there?" Kili asked as the troop of dwarves made camp. Lyra had adopted a habit of being thirty plus yards behind them during their walking. She was always fussing over a black bowl and occasionally they'd hear her cursing. Twice she'd had to run to catch up having stopped or fallen too far behind.

"A woman has many mysteries," Balin observed. "Especially that one. Only a fool would pretend to understand."

"Uncle certainly does his best," Kili jibed and Fili laughed.

"Aye, don't tease him lads," Balin said resting on a rock for a moment. "Your uncle might be king, but he's still a man and he'd do well to find himself a wife. He deserves a little happiness…after so much sorrow."

"Do you really think they'll marry?" Fili asked tossing a pile of wood down beside the fire.

"That, I don't know," Balin answered. The other dwarves were hunkering down preparing the meal and setting traps for the night, while his brother and Thorin had gone ahead to scout the path as in the morning they'd begin their ascent. "But our journey is half over I would say, and while the difficult half is still ahead, our thoughts must begin to turn to what we'll do once it's completed."

"Uncle will need help establishing and rebuilding Erebor, certainly," Kili replied taking his boot off to shake out the rocks.

"Aye, that is a cause _we_ will certainly be bound too. But what of her Lady? She is neither the line of Durin nor dwarf. She's bound herself to our quest, but what will tempt her to remain after it's completed?" Balin's question hung heavy between the two princes. They'd never thought of that.

"Surely we can invite her to stay with us. She's expressed no desire to return to her home. She said herself there's no family waiting for her," Fili stated.

"Yes, of course! We'll invite her into the King's Court. It's not unheard of for menfolk to serve the council of a dwarven king!" Kili suggested earnestly.

"Certainly, yes of course," Balin said and watched as Lyra finally entered the camp, throwing her bag angrily to the ground and kicking it in frustration, "but I've a feeling it'll take a lot more incentive than a court title to tame that one."

"What's got you so upset?" Fili asked as he and his brother walked over to the dark haired woman. She was tucking her prized bowl into her bag and unraveling her bedroll.

"Nothing," she lied and forced a smile up at them, "When're Thorin and Dwalin going to be back, I need to blow off a little steam…"

"Blow off steam?" Fili asked confused at the phrase.

"Yeah, like…when I'm agitated, I need to do something physical to calm me down," she tried to explain.

"And Uncle Thorin helps you?"Kili inquired throwing a mischievous look at his brother.

"Usually Dwalin, but I bet Thorin would help if I asked."

"He would definitely help you!"

"You think so?"

"Trust us, our uncle would _love_ to get physical with you."

Lyra paused digging through her bag and looked up at the blonde and brunette who were doing their best to not laugh. "Wait…what are you implying?" Two sets of shoulders shrugged. "When I said 'physical' I meant with fighting, I'm learning your style of combat."

"Whatever you want to call it…" Kili said and the pair collapsed in laughter.

"Oh the hell, now it's on!" Lyra snapped. She shoved her bag aside and Kili only had time to shriek before Lyra tackled the pair of them.

…

Dwalin and Thorin had scouted a few miles ahead when they began their return journey back. Thorin had to admit it was good to be in the company of his good friend again. It was easy to get lost in the raucous of the group.

He and Dwalin had been especially close in their years in the Blue Mountains. Along with his brother, Balin, there were few he could count on to follow him into any danger, but they were among them.

"What do you miss most about Erebor?" Dwalin asked when they could see the fire of their camp in the distance.

"Is that a trick question?" he asked grinning, but at Dwalin's insistent look, Thorin let his memories drift back. "I remember when I was a young dwarfling, right after my mother passed…"

"Aye, Duriel was a beautiful queen…"

"…my father took me to the highest point of Erebor. We could look down over the throne room into the very caverns of the city. The walkways were flooded with a sea of people. Even at my tender age I knew these were our people… _my_ people. My father told me, 'when you stand here and you look down, the triumph of our people laid before you, there, you will always see your mother and the kingdom she built for you'. I long to stand at the crest and look down to see the city, once again, bustling with our people. Maybe one day, show that spot to my own bairn."

"Aye, you'll be a grear father, Thorin," Dwalin said as the sounds of the others began to reach their ears. "Mahal knows you've done enough to raise your two nephews. They're a bit feral still, but they're strong and smart and they're good, like you are."

Thorin was about to respond with thanks when they looked forward into the camp, both of their jaws dropping. Fili had Lyra wrapped in a head lock and Kili was racing toward her. The three had stripped to their trousers, under shirts and bare feet. The others were circled around them passing coin and drink, hooting, hollering and gorging their faces with a fresh kill of goat.

Using her captor's chest as a brace, Lyra thrust her legs up to double kick the younger dwarf in the chest and left him sprawled on the ground at her feet. Lyra grunted in rage and drove her elbow hard into Fili's ribs; his grip loosened enough that she unhooked his arm from her neck, twisted it over her shoulder and flung him over head to land hard on his back and on top of his brother.

The others cheered and Lyra held both of her hands overhead in triumph. Her face was red and sweaty and she had a cut on her lip that was still bleeding. Dori handed her a coin purse with a low bow.

"What's the meaning of this?" Thorin barked and the crowd dispersed in a quick succession of mutters and apologies. Lyra still stood breathing heavily, her smile never leaving.

"We're being murdered, that's what!" Kili said still suffocating under his brother. He shoved him off and tried to stand.

"You made the bet," Lyra challenged and was counting the coins from the wallet.

"How did you do that flip?" Fili asked recovering himself.

"Oh here, let me show you. Take an arm like this," she demonstrated by taking his left arm over her shoulder, her back pressed against his chest. "Then twist and use the opponents weight to…"

"Enough, enough of this nonsense! Fili, Kili, get dressed and set the traps."

"We're already set them…"

"Set more!"

"We'll get you next round," Kili sneered as they gathered their armor and boots and scampered off.

"Don't be mad at them," Lyra said as her breathing returned to normal. "It was my idea." Dwalin slowly backed away, letting the two of them have their conversation in peace. "I was waiting for Dwalin to return to practice the sword; they offered to help train me."

"That didn't look like _training_ ," Thorin said grabbing one of her discarded boots for her.

"Well…they didn't believe me when I said was certified in hand-to-hand combat," she defended taking the boot from him and sitting on the rock behind her to brush the dirt off. "One thing led to another and I ended up having to prove them wrong."

"You could have been seriously hurt," he said standing in front of her. "You _have_ been hurt," he said taking her chin in his hand and looking at the cut on her lower lip.

"It's nothing," she defended looking up into his eyes. "That was the first round. I hit my mouth on Fili's shoulder guard. That was why we shed armor." There was so much laughter in her eyes that Thorin couldn't help shaking his head and chuckling, his anger dissolving.

"You are an impossible woman," he observed and dropped his hand to grab the flask from his hip. He used his pocket cloth to soak up a bit of wine and gently dabbed at the red mark on her mouth.

"Ow," she said pushing his hand away as the alcohol stung.

"Don't be weak," he said taking her face in his free hand again and reapplying the cloth. She made a whining noise in her throat but let him finish cleaning the wound. "I suggest you don't do anything with that lip until it's healed or it'll get worse."

"Why Thorin," she asked coyly as she took the flask from his hand and downed a mouthful. "What would I be doing with my lip that would make the cut worse?" Though her tone was innocent, there was nothing in her eyes or the way she was looking at him that gave that impression.

He drew closer. Though he wasn't cupping her face anymore, he leaned over her, their foreheads almost touching. She looked startled but didn't move away and he grinned as he lowered his mouth toward hers, their noses brushing. Lyra's eyes flickered shut waiting for the pressure of his mouth, but shot open a minute later in confusion when she felt only his breath on her face. He had paused just before kissing her, their lips a hair from touching.

"For one," he said without moving. "Talking." He moved away abruptly and as she'd been leaning forward, Lyra nearly fell off her perch. She glared at his retreating back as he went to sit with the others to begin his evening meal.

"Bully."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Heeeere you go! I (hopefully) fixed the links on my profile so they should be up and running now for those of you who were curious! Awesome job reviewing everyone, the updates just keeeep rolling!**

The rain was relentless. Having taken the Middle Road that led through the Misty Mountains just south of Coldfells, they crested the pass in six days. But it was six days of never ending rain. They were soaked through, shivering, and in desperate need of hot food.

"We must find shelter!" Balin yelled as the thunder storm around them grew to hazardous conditions. Lightning was striking the rocks overhead and peppering them with shards that, when they hit their wrinkled, saturated skin, felt like needles.

"There! Giants!" Lyra yelled pointing in the distance. The night was pitch-black but in the moments when the sky was illuminated by lightning, they could see massive silhouettes moving on the horizon. Their tremendous roars and cries shook the ground like thunder and the realization that the giants were moving closer wracked them all with a paralyzing fear.

"Move!" Thorin yelled as he led the way on the narrow path. Ten paces in, a massive bolder crashed behind them and nearly struck Oin and Ori. "Hurry, run!"

Their feet were slipping the on the wet rock but they couldn't afford to slow their pace. Dwalin and Thorin were helping them jump over a crevice in the path, first Balin, Gloin, Bombur and Lyra, but when she turned to reach and help Biblo across, the path they'd just jumped from began rising in the air.

"Hold on!" Fili shouted to those that were trapped on the edge of the rising giant.

"No!" Thorin yelled as the giant stepped away from them, the faces of their comrades disappearing into the dark.

"Thorin!" Lyra yelled and held him back as he readied to jump back. "Don't!" He pushed her off, but it was too late. They could only watch helplessly as the rising giant swung violently at the two approaching.

The first giant ducked, but the swinging fist hit the second. "Get back!" Dwalin said as the giant that was hit fell backwards and crashed into the mountain below them. The reverberation shook so violently it made Lyra fall to her knees. They could hear the shouts and screams of their hostage friends as the two remaining giants flung rock and fist at one another.

"Thorin, what do we do?" Bombur asked and their leader looked down at Lyra. Looking back at the giants, their ferocity rattling her, but their movements looked less like fighting and more…

"Playing…" she muttered remembering the passage in the book she'd read. "Thorin!" she called over the downpour and he slid to her side. "They're playing!" He looked confused but the surety in her eyes made him double check.

"Stones," he ordered the others. "Grab stones." There was no shortage of debris at their feet. While the giants were farther off, they were at a slightly lower altitude than them and as the seven of them hurled rock as hard as they could, several of the stones met their mark.

"Keep throwing!" Dwalin encouraged as the two giants began taking notice of the pebble-like pelts. "It's working!" The giant they knew was still, hopefully, hosting their kin started moving toward them. "Get ready!"

It looked as though the giant was about to bring both fists down on them which would have entirely obliterated their small perch on the mountainside, but fortune smiled! The giants behind the captor smashed it over the head with a bolder and it began falling forward.

"There they are!" Thorin shouted and they could make out the faces of their friends closing in. "Jump!" The eight of them didn't wait a second time; they flung their bodies from the falling form of the giant and into the waiting arms of their companions. Lyra grabbed at anything she could: arm, beard, shirt, and pack, whatever it took to hold onto their friends as the giant crashed into the mountainside overhead and fell into the ravine below.

"Is everyone alright?" Thorin asked as he mentally took inventory. "Lyra!" Thorin called pushing his way through. The raven haired woman was buried under the body of Bilbo who was struggling to stand. Thorin yanked him backward and to his feet.

"Lass!" Dwalin cried. Lyra had been struck so hard by the collision, she'd knocked against the wall of the mountain.

"Get me a bandage!"

"We can't stay here, we need to find cover," Balin earnestly suggested. Thorin felt torn but knew his friend was right. Dwalin took Lyra's gear and Thorin hoisted her over his shoulder.

"Move," he snapped at Bilbo who looked terrified and guilty. Thorin pushed him out of the way without waiting and the others scampered after him as he continued on the path.

…

Lyra felt her headache long before she opened her eyes. There was a flickering light that was slightly blurry and shadows moved around her. "She's awake," Kili said moving next to her.

"Are you alright?" Thorin asked kneeling in front of her. She lifted her hand and felt a bandage on her head. "You took a hard hit, but the cut is small," he said answering her question before it was asked.

"Is everyone ok?" she enquired as she sat up and looked around. With her senses returning, she noted they were tucked into an open cave. Fourteen of them were huddled around a small campfire and by the smell, food was already started.

"We're alright Lass," Dwalin answered smiling softly at her. "How are you feeling?"

"I've had worse," she said returning the smile. It suddenly dawned on her, "where's Bilbo?" the hobbit was missing from the group.

"He's outside," Thorin answered shortly. "Where he belongs too. It was his fault you took the hit."

"Really? I didn't realize Bilbo was part Stone Giant," she said glaring and standing to her feet.

"Easy!" Thorin chided as she was unsteady on her feet.

"I'm fine, just stood up too quickly," she said pushing his hands away. "You were harsh with him weren't you?" Thorin didn't need to reply in order for her to know the answer. "Honestly, do you ever learn?" grabbing the blanket off the ground and moving toward the front of the cave she saw Bilbo sitting just outside with his hands in his lap.

"Lyra!" he said standing quickly. Without waiting, she knelt and wrapped her arms around him. He went rigid but his thin arms wrapped around her. "I'm sorry," he said as she pulled away. "I didn't mean…"

"Bilbo stop," Lyra interrupted and put a hand on his shoulder. "Thorin's an ass, it wasn't your fault. I had terrible footing it could have been anyone."

"But it wasn't anyone, was it?" he asked sitting back down. "I'm making an awful mess of things here. I really think I should head back for Rivendell. I know I can find my way."

"If you leave now, our quest will fail," Lyra tried to reason.

"I'm not convinced it will succeed with me here. I don't belong in these mountains with dwarves. I was a fool to think an adventure was a good idea. I'm not a Took…"

"You don't need to be a Took to be brave," Lyra countered. "Don't ever let anyone decide what you are. We get to decide for ourselves. Impossible people are capable of great things."

"Oh yeah, like who?"

"Where I'm from, there was a great war that spread across the entire world. Hundreds of people died every day. The army from my country was trying to overtake an island that was covered in enemy troops. They flooded the cliffs with many men, but the enemy had the advantage. This cliff was famous for the number of lives that were lost. The men were so afraid they couldn't fight for their own lives.

"One night, a large company of men tried once again to take the ridge. They were pinned down from enemy attack. But it was then, across blood soaked dirt, crawled a single man: Desmond Doss. He wasn't a great soldier or warrior. He was skinny and small. He'd never fought any battles and many of the men around him tried to get him to go home.

"He was a healer, armed only with courage; he crawled under the cover of darkness and pulled man after man after man to safety. He must have crawled the length of the cliff over two hundred times before dawn but every man he found alive, he saved. Over a hundred lived because of this one man who wouldn't even take up a weapon in his own defense because he refused to take a life.

"You don't have to be a warrior, Bilbo. You don't have to be a dwarf…we need a hobbit. We need _you_. Just the way you are."

"The things is," he said in a small voice. "I'm not sure if I have the courage…even for one night."

"You'll find it, Bilbo. You'll find your courage," she reassured him as she placed a hand over his. The hobbit smiled softly and returned the gesture.

"You two should come inside." They both turned and saw Thorin filling the cave entrance. "Get a hot meal," he instructed.

"Go ahead," Lyra said to Bilbo who stood and slipped past Thorin.

"I'm in no mood for your reprimands, he's a liability and nearly cost your life today," Thorin said crossing his arms.

"As much as I _love_ arguing with you, that's not what I was going to say," Lyra commented and Thorin's eyebrow rose. "Listen, Bilbo is going to prove you wrong and I'm going to love hearing you say 'you were right', but until then I need to talk to you."

"We'll see about that," he said sitting next to her. She took the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders feeling the wind sting her still damp skin. "What is it you need to say?"

"I know you want to leave early, but we have to wait for Gandalf," she started. "The fastest way through the mountains is going to be through the goblin caves, but we can't take that risk without the wizard. The future that I know, we end up getting captured and barely escape. I'm hoping we don't need to take that route and can find a better way. With Gandalf, we might be able to sneak through the pass."

"You want us to _sneak_ through the maze of goblin tunnels?" he asked incredulously.

"I _want_ warm bed, dry socks, a heating blanket, and a cup of coffee," she retorted, "but what I'm going to get is a run for my life in goblin infested caves. I'm just trying to stay one step ahead." They were back inside the cave now and Lyra felt her eyes fill with tears as she looked around at the weather-worn, soaking wet company. They were shivering from the cold and looked a stiff breeze away from collapse.

Mustering her last reserves of energy she lifted the scratched lid of her guitar case and tucked the instrument against her. The dwarves had scarcely enough energy to pluck up their ears and listen, but she played anyway.

 _Help me, it's like the walls are caving in  
Sometimes I feel like giving up  
But I just can't  
It isn't in my blood_

 _Laying on the bathroom floor, feeling nothing  
I'm overwhelmed and insecure, give me something  
I could take to ease my mind slowly  
Just have a drink and you'll feel better  
Just take her home and you'll feel better  
Keep telling me that it gets better  
Does it ever?_

 _Help me, it's like the walls are caving in  
Sometimes I feel like giving up  
No medicine is strong enough  
Someone help me  
I'm crawling in my skin  
Sometimes I feel like giving up  
But I just can't  
It isn't in my blood_

 _It isn't in my blood_

 _I'm looking through my phone again, feeling anxious  
Afraid to be alone again, I hate this  
I'm trying to find a way to chill, can't breathe, oh  
Is there somebody who could_

 _Help me, it's like the walls are caving in  
Sometimes I feel like giving up  
No medicine is strong enough  
Someone help me  
I'm crawling in my skin  
Sometimes I feel like giving up  
But I just can't  
It isn't in my blood_

 _It isn't in my blood_

 _I need somebody now  
I need somebody now  
Someone to help me out  
I need somebody now_

 _Help me, it's like the walls are caving in  
Sometimes I feel like giving up  
But I just can't  
It isn't in my blood_

 _It isn't in my blood  
It isn't in my blood  
I need somebody now  
It isn't in my blood  
I need somebody now  
It isn't in my blood_

When she finished, the only sound in the cave was snoring from the slumbering crew. Quietly putter her guitar away she let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"There's no way to avoid the goblins?" Thorin asked as he shifted next to her. The two seemed to be the only ones left awake.

Lyra rubbed a hand over her face. Her head was pounding. For the last week she'd been trying to get the Singing Bowl to show her images, but the magic was harder to access without the aid of Gandalf, Elrond and Galadriel. So far she'd only been able to muster a few glimpses of their company running from the goblins, but the water was murky and she couldn't sustain a timeline.

"There isn't," she answered with as much confidence as she could. She knew one thing, Bilbo had to meet Gollum. Not only to obtain the ring and keep it from enemy hands, but the hobbit's presence was hanging by a thread. One more slip up, and she knew Bilbo would retreat home without even helping them to challenge Smaug. It was a risk she couldn't take. "We have to be smart. If we can find the entrance to the goblin tunnels and wait for Gandalf, maybe it can work."

"You're sure?"

"Honestly," she said looking at him with rounded eyes, his features were barely distinguishable in the fading light of the lantern, "the only thing I'm sure of is that I'm tired, my head hurts, I'm freezing and…I'm scared." Thorin was taken slightly aback by her vulnerability. He felt privileged she'd let her guard down and admit those things. He'd been envious of her bond with Gandalf as she'd never hesitated to express her feelings with him. While he knew there was a blooming attraction between them, this was one of the first moments of genuine connection.

"I can help with two of those," he said scooting so he was slightly behind her. He tossed the blanket from his bedroll over both of them and pulled her against him until she was tucked tightly under his arm. "For tonight at least, anything that tries to get to you will need to go through me," he said feeling her shivering form relax against him.

Lyra didn't say anything as they passed a wineskin between them and she drank until her belly was full, her lids growing heavy. Nuzzling into Thorin's broad shoulder, she let his husky form envelop her as she drifted off to sleep.

…

"No luck," Kili said as he and Fili entered the cave. Lyra had been able to negotiate three days to wait for the wizard before Thorin insisted they moved on. So far they'd used up one day with no luck of finding an entrance into tunnels they knew ran below them. Before, the constant rain had felt like a curse, but now it was a blessing as the dark clouds and thunder concealed their presence.

They'd made it through the night with body heat and lanterns, but Lyra had insisted they start a fire to warm the cave during the day when the light wouldn't be seen. The cave they were in was large and had been the first place they'd inspected for any trap doors or doorways. They weren't _that_ lucky.

"That's alright boys," Lyra said helping them shed their cloaks. "Boots off, get your feet dry." They followed instruction sitting near the fire before it would need to be extinguished for the night.

"I've warmed some rocks to put under our blankets tonight," Ori said holding a large pot of rocks he'd boiled.

"That was clever Ori, well done," Thorin said clapping him on the shoulder. He sat next to Lyra who was talking with Bilbo and Balin. "There's nothing to the east either," he informed them and Lyra handed him a flagon of ale. "I'm starting to doubt we'll find anything from this position. We should move farther along the pass."

"If we do it's just one more day between us and Gandalf," Lyra said hoping she wasn't leading them astray. "I don't know if we'll find the door or if the door will find us, but if anything, we're spending a few nights drying out and avoiding trench foot."

"Trench foot?" Bilbo asked.

"I've seen enough soldiers in hospital because they couldn't keep their feet dry. The skin gets too soft and starts to get cuts that fill with dirt or sand. If your feet get infected…er…inflamed then traveling becomes impossible. Sometimes they even had to amputate." The two dwarves and hobbit looked from her to their feet and stretched their legs closer to the fire. It made sense now why Lyra had insisted they all remove their shoes and hand their socks to dry. The north wall of the cave looked more like a laundry-line than a rockery.

"We may be dry but if we don't find the way into the tunnels, we've wasted valuable time," Thorin said. He wasn't harsh but his words were true.

"Well what if…" Bilbo started but stopped short of finishing his sentence.

"Go on," Lyra encouraged.

"No, never mind," Bilbo said.

"If you have something to say Master Baggins, say it quickly," Thorin insisted.

"Well it's just that, Gandalf said my sword glows, not just when orcs are near, but also goblins. Could we not use that to find the door?"

"Why didn't I think of that?" Lyra asked more to herself. "Bilbo you're a genius!"

"Fili, Kili, once you're dry and fed you'll be taking the Burglar with you on another patrol," Thorin ordered. The young dwarves nodded and began eating more quickly. They were all eager to get out of the mountains.

"That solves one problem, but we've quite another to solve," Balin noted. "We've yet to be reunited with the wizard."

"If we find the door, we'll scout as far ahead as we can, but once the path is clear, we'll need to move. Gandalf can manage his own way if he chooses to rejoin us," Thorin proclaimed and even Lyra couldn't argue. She wasn't eager to have a run in with the goblins especially if it could be avoided.

"We'd best prepare then," Balin surmised and made for the others to warn them. Lyra stood as well and moved over to her bag to retrieve the Resting Bell and wasted no time exiting the cave. Though the only images she could conjure were fractured and weren't always clear, she knew she had to keep practicing.

There was still a steady drizzle of rain but from the overhang of the rock farther down the path, she could stay mostly dry. Water poured over the stone awning and Lyra used the weather-made waterfall to fill the Bell. Kneeling on a dry spot on the ground she began gliding the wand around the rim. It only took a moment for the echo to fill her and the ripples began taking form.

 _The dwarves were running. There was the sound of drums in the distance and screeches. Thorin was leading the way in the dark; his face was panicked and hurried. They were being chased. As Thorin ran, the company close behind, he took a path to the left of a fork and a moment later they were faced with a dead end. Their hands clawed at the walls trying to find an opening, a foothold, anything. With no other option, they drew swords and pressed their backs to the wall waiting for the onslaught._

 _Thorin stood at the head with the others pushed behind him, her own form stood at his back. She looked even more frightened than he did as the goblins entered the tunnel and began hurling themselves at them. Their teeth were sharp and fingernails were like claws. She could feel them tearing at her skin as she swung her sword trying to fight her way through._

 _The goblins were too many and the dwarves began falling. First Dori was cut down with a cry of anguish, then Bofur, his through torn open. Lyra heard her own voice scream as Thorin was buried under several goblins that stabbed and hacked at him. She dove into the hoard trying to free him, but as razors tore at her, she saw his lifeless face staring up at her._

"Lyra!"

She snapped violently backward until she was pressed against the rock. Thorin was standing over her looking frightened. Unable to help it, the memory of his vacant stare as he'd been in killed in her vision overtook her and she burst into tears. She flung her arms around him and he immediately wrapped her in a tight embrace.

"Everything is worse," she said pulling back enough to look in his eyes. "I saw it…the goblins overrun us. We have to get out of the mountains. We have to go now, just leave, before they find us."

"Shh," he said taking her face in his hands. "You're alright, you're safe," he reassured and she took a moment to collect herself. "Tell me what you saw."

"We were in the tunnels, the goblins were chasing us, but we were trapped. There were so many of them. Dori was killed, and Bofur…and you." Tears started trickling from her eyes again, "I watched you die."

He was still holding her face in both hands as the corner of his mouth turned upward, his eyes looking kindly down at her, "these tears are for me then?" he asked softly brushing them away with his thumbs.

"Did you hear what I said, you died!"

"I am right here," he reasoned, taking both of her hands in his and placing them on his chest. "What you saw has not come to pass. I am still here."

"For now, but…"

"For now." His tone was firm and she felt his heart beating under her palms. It was enough to help her settle her mind and return entirely from her emotional vision. "Tell me again."

"We were running and it was dark. The road forked and we went left to a dead end."

"So if we retreat, we'll simply go to the right," he said only half in a teasing manner.

"The goblins attacked us."

"Was Gandalf with us?" he asked and Lyra wracked her brain to remember.

"No…no I don't remember seeing him."

"Well that's at least two things we can change. We'll take the opposite path and most certainly wait for the wizard."

"What if that isn't enough?" her voice was quiet again and she was absently brushing the fur lining of his cloak.

"I'm harder to kill than you think," he said with a glimmer of pride, his hands finding their way to her hips. "Many have tried."

"You're really going to take this moment to brag?" she asked with a small huff only partially aware of him pulling her closer.

"No… I'm going to take this moment to kiss you," he informed her and her eyes shot up to his. He was grinning. "If I am to die in these mountains, prematurely brought down before the end of my quest, I'm going to die knowing the feel of your lips on mine." She was pressed tightly against him now but she doubted that was the reason she found it suddenly difficult to breath.

"Yeah…ok," she said snaking an arm around his neck and bringing his mouth down to hers in a glorious sensation. His fingers dug into her back and she pulled him down hard against her, their lips interlocking. The rain poured around them, the two barely sheltered under the overhanging rock. Thorin's beard was rough and scratched at her cheek and she couldn't tell if the pounding heart between them was his, hers, or both.

She made no move to break the kiss as he buried a hand in her hair, his firm mouth moving against hers and he walked her backward to press against the wall, but they quickly parted when they heard pounding feet splashing in puddles.

"Thorin!" Kili called. Fili was right behind him and Lyra was never so angry to see them, her lips were still tingling and she knew her cheeks were flushed.

"What is it?" Thorin snapped, clearly he wasn't any happier at being interrupted.

"It's Bilbo!" They both noticed the hobbit wasn't with them. "We found the door to the goblin cave and when we tried to find a way through, he fell through a trap door. We looked and looked but couldn't find him."

"Thorin," she said grabbing his arm. "We have to find him…"

"Get the others."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N Here's the next chapter. Admittedly I took a cue from the extended edition of the film when recounting the goblin king. There's a glorious element of the ridiculous to the Goblin King that cracks me up every time I watch that scene.**

 **I made this chapter a little extra long, I'm on vacation next week so I wanted to give you chance to review before I'm gone. Remember 5 reviews is a new chapter!**

The tunnels smelled foul; like rancid feet and stale air offered no reprieve from the stench that soaked into them. The Company had divided into two groups, the first led by Thorin contained Lyra, Kili, Bofur, Dwalin, Oin and Bombur. They were hurrying through the northern tunnel while the others were searching to the south. With an arrangement of meeting back at the Front Porch, the trap door they'd slipped into, in an hour. They were rapidly meeting their deadline without any sign of their lost burglar.

So far they hadn't encountered any goblins, this time of the night they were likely hunting, but their presence was a constant threat. Shadows moved overhead, their garbled voices echoing off of cavern walls. Lyra was eternally grateful for the expertise of the dwarves who were used to the way sound worked underground. They had been spared an unfortunate turn more than once.

"There's no sign of him this way," Kili said in a hushed tone. They'd managed to track a few footprints but the trail seemed to grow cold in any direction they followed.

"We'll head back and regroup; the others may have found something," Thorin stated and began leading the way back across a wooden bridge.

"Wait!" Lyra said grabbing his arm, "what's that?" In the dim light up ahead she could see a light bobbing back and forth. "That could be Bilbo." Without waiting Lyra raced ahead.

"Lyra, no!" She came to an abrupt halt at the opening of the path when, instead of her beloved hobbit friend, she saw a single goblin carrying a torch in one hand and a reflective platter with what she could only assume was food in the other. They stood staring at one another for a moment, both too shocked to move.

All at once it opened its mouth and let out short cry dropping the platter to the ground with a noisy clang. Kili and Dwalin were quick to action as they tackled the creature. A short scuffle ensued, Kili clamping a hand over its mouth before Dwalin's axe silenced it permanently. They all stood quietly in a circle staring at one another for a moment waiting. The tunnel was completely still and silent.

Their sigh of relief was short lived however as they turned to depart the direction they came and half a dozen goblins blocked their path. Lips pulled back in snarls, the pack looked like hungry dogs. Turning to flee the other way they were met with the same sight; beady eyes and pitchfork weapons. There was a breath of quiet and Thorin and Lyra exchanged a fearful look, the memory of her terrifying vision still fresh in her mind. His eyes hardened, those same lips that left the ghost of a kiss on hers tightened into thin lines. Surrounded on all sides and with no other option, Thorin dropped his sword and the others followed suit as they surrendered.

…

Bilbo had been frantically racing through the tunnels, the endless labyrinth of trails finally weaving themselves out of the mountain. He'd been separated from Fili and Kili for hours now. Almost immediately after falling through the trap door he'd been hurled over the edge of the path and down into the caverns below.

There, he'd found a most peculiar item and encountered the enigmatic creature, Gollum from whom he was now fleeing. Their game of riddles, while stimulating, proved deadly as the twisted figure had turned on him. It hadn't taken a high level of intelligence to realize the golden ring that he still clutched in his hand was the precious token Gollum had lost. Although he hadn't meant for his final riddle to be the mystery of the item he'd nearly forgotten he found while crawling around and put into his pocket on his arrival, the perplexing question had bought him enough time to slip away.

But now Bilbo was running for his life.

Gollum was close behind, his emaciated form alarmingly agile. Bilbo hurdled over rocks and cracks in the ground, barely managing to stuff himself into a crevice between pillars as Gollum closed the distance.

"Thief! Baggins!" he cried and clawed at the opening Bilbo had ducked into. He was almost through to the other side when Gollum's long fingers took hold of the back of his coat and yanked. Bilbo cried out as he was pulled backward. It became a struggle; each pulling as hard as they could. With quick thinking, Bilbo used his sword to cut the buttons from the front of his coat and it gave way. Gollum was flung backward at the sudden release and Bilbo was launched forward, his sword and the ring both flying in front of him. "Thief!" Gollum cried again as he recovered and began crawling through the tight space.

Bilbo scrambled forward on his belly, first reaching his sword and then his hand found the ring that lay in the dirt. As though by magic, the exact angle his hand came down atop it, the ring began slipping effortlessly onto his middle finger. Before it was holstered, Gollum's claw-like hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled him backward.

"It's ours! It's ours!" he cried. Bilbo managed to roll enough to drive his large foot into Gollum's head forcing him backward before he fetched the ring along with a handful of dirt and continued running. The path in front of him opened to intersect with a wider road that was clearly used by the Goblins. He didn't have time to choose left or right, however, as a host of goblins came barreling through from the right.

Barely able to duck across the road the opposite way he came, he crouched behind a rock to watch the goblins run by. "Thorin…" Bilbo breathed as he watched the commotion before him. It looked as though half the company had been taken hostage, including Lyra. They were being pulled, pushed and dragged, the raucous from the goblins terrifying. Kili tripped and landed hard on his stomach right in front of Bilbo. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment, a dawn of realization hitting the dwarf, before he was yanked by the hair to his feet and hauled off.

Bilbo was about to jump from behind his hiding place to follow, when he saw Gollum waiting from the trail he'd been on before. If Bilbo remained, he'd be caught either by the goblins or by the relentless ring-hunter. Fearing he had no other choice, Bilbo turned and ran away.

…

"What's that up ahead?" Balin asked as he led his own half of the company that was comprised of Gloin, Bifur, Ori, Fili, Nori and Dori. They'd done well to chart their trek through the tunnels, careful to avoid being seen, but now the ground around them was shifting from wood planks, to dirt, and now sprigs of grass protruded from wet ground.

"Look!" Fili said pointing upward. Above them was an opening and they could see stars. "Give me a rope!" Using a grapple, the prince was able to hook the tether to the opening and he quickly scaled the twenty feet.

"What do you see?" Ori called up.

"It's a way out; I can see a path down the mountain!" Fili called. "Quick, pass me the bags."

It took a few minutes of shifting and tossing before the packs were sorted through the opening. And not a moment too soon! Balin turned with his sword drawn as heavy footsteps echoed off the walls.

"Goblins! Arm yourselves!" he called and the others jumped to action. From around the corner like a flash, a single figure appeared. Before they registered the fearsome goblin looked exactly like their burglar, it was yelling in fright which in turn caused the six dwarves to scream.

"Bilbo!" Fili called, his blonde head poking through the hole above them.

"Bilbo!" Balin echoed and clapped the small hobbit, who was sheet white, on the back. "We've been looking all over for you!" Bilbo was breathing so hard he couldn't talk but was wildly pointing behind him and the way he came.

"Others…goblin's…taken...couldn't stop them…"

"What's this?"

"What is it lad? Catch your breath."

Sucking in a long breath Bilbo was finally able to squeak out, "The others were taken by goblins. I couldn't stop them."

"That does it lads, we'll have to rescue them," Balin said gripping his sword tighter. The others chorused their agreement and unsheathed their weapons. "Perhaps…it's best if you wait here…" Balin suggested to Bilbo when he tried to draw his own sword. "Guard the exit, as it were…"

"Right, sure, certainly," Bilbo said feeling both relieved and disheartened. Fili jumped down from overhead and handed Bilbo the rope.

"Wouldn't want you getting lost. Again."

Bilbo watched the seven dwarves race back the way he had just come and soon silence surrounded him as he stood pathetically holding the rope to freedom in one hand and a sword in the other.

There weren't many times in Bilbo's life when he felt particularly small, usually associating with people of his own height. But the first, that he could remember, was when, at five years old, his grandfather, Mungo Baggins had hoisted him onto his shoulders so he could see over the crowd to watch the display of fireworks that Gandalf the Gray was presenting at the summer festival. His tiny frame had been lost underfoot and the ease at which he was lifted made him feel like he was as light as a feather.

The second was when he finished secondary school and he'd finally plucked up the courage to try and court Ruby Bolger. He'd spent all spring growing and pruning cabbage roses to make an impressive bouquet for her. Adorning the pink buds, the exact shade of her rosy cheeks, with sprigs of white wildflowers, he'd set off to her house. Standing on her front porch, he still remembered the way her yellow curls bounced in the sunlight as she ran off with his cousin Fosco.

But neither compared to the small and insignificant way he felt as he stood alone in the cave watching his friends race off toward certain danger leaving him behind in the single patch of moonlight. With a small sniffle, he tucked his sword away and began climbing up the rope. Come dawn, he'd set his course for Rivendell.

He'd made it only half way up when a sudden weight began making his climb more difficult. Looking below and seeing nothing, he could only feel the heaviness emanating from his pocket. Before he could reach inside to discard the ring, he slipped from the tether, landing painfully on his back, the golden band flying overhead and careening toward him. Instinctively he reached for it and it slid like a single-fitted glove over one finger and a wall of wind crashed upon him.

…

The seven captives were unceremoniously tossed onto the ground by the hoard, their weapons clanking in front of them as they were presented like cattle to the enormous crowned blob that sat in front of them.

"What's this?" the Goblin King croaked in common tongue, his double chin wiggling like a beard of blubber.

"Found 'em creeping through the tunnels," one of the smaller goblins replied.

"What are they? Spies, thieves, assassins?" Lyra didn't know if the bumps on his face were pimples, goiters, or cysts, but she didn't care to find out.

"Dwarves, your highness…mostly."

Lyra was looking around hoping for any sign of Gandalf. There must have been thousands of goblin's littering the rafters around them, all watching to see how the strangers would be dealt with.

"Dwarves?" the King asked stepping off his throne to observe them more closely. "What are dwarves doing in these parts?" Thorin made to step forward and Bofur cut him off.

"You see," he trilled, "we were on the road, well the path…quite honestly it was more of a track. We were on the road since last Tuesday or perhaps it was Thursday…"

"Silence!" the King roared and the goblins all cringed. Lyra noted a scaffold behind the throne where goblins sat holding, not weapons but…instruments? "You're lying…" he said in a quieter, more sinister voice and turned back to his throne. "Bring up the mangler! The bonebreaker!"

"Musicians!" Lyra yelled and the screeched of the goblins who were rushing about stopped. The Goblin King turned slowly to assess her. Feeling suddenly very exposed before the massive creature, Lyra swallowed hard. "We're musicians. We-we were on our way to play in…" God she couldn't remember a single location.

"Loudwater!" Bofur finished for her. She gave him a look of relief and gratitude.

"Loudwater eh?" The King asked. "Nice foothills in Loudwater…I've a cousin who lives near there."

"Well you see that's just it," Bofur said. "We are headed there to…to play for them!" Lyra's look hardened and she widened her eyes at him.

"You are?" the King asked skeptically.

"Well…we hope to that is," Lyra continued. "But…we, um…didn't know any goblin songs!" she said with a sudden thought. "That's why we're here, to-to ask, humbly, if we could hear you sing and that would help us learn from the greatest of the goblin kings."

"True…" he said stroking his uppermost chin, "I am the greatest. And I have composed many tunes…but that doesn't explain the weapons!"

"Gifts!" Bofur cried before the tension could escalate. "We would never presume to come before your Excellency and ask for something without something to offer in return."

"Keep talking like that and I may let you leave with your limbs," the King said grinning. "Most of them anyway." He turned and kicked one of the posts holding up the scaffold behind him. "Play, you fools!" he ordered.

 _Bones will be shattered.  
Necks will be wrung.  
You'll be beaten and battered,  
From racks you'll be hung  
You will die down here and never be found!  
Down in the deep of Goblin-town!_

Lyra heard a soft _pssting_ noise from below as the Goblin King twisted and turned like a hippo doing ballet while he sang. Looking over the edge of the platform they were on, she saw the others on the bridge below them. Giving Thorin a discreet elbow the others became aware of their rescuers.

 _Clap! Snap! The black crack!  
Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!  
And down down to Goblin-town  
You go, my lad!_

Without wondering if they'd make an escape, the goblins around them were too preoccupied playing and singing along to pay them much attention. Thorin quietly took Oin by the shoulder and pushed him over the edge. His yelp was lost under the din of poorly clanging cymbals and he fell into the arms of his friends below.

 _Clash, crash! Crush, smash!  
Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!  
Pound, pound far underground!  
Ho, ho! My lad!_

 _You can yammer and yelp  
but there aint no help  
Make 'em stammer and squeak!  
Batter and beat!  
Down, down, down in Goblin-Town_

Kili was next to jump followed by Dwalin but before they could get anyone else the Goblin King stopped his song, his great belly slapping as he stomped a foot.

"Wait a minute…" he said glaring. "Weren't there more of you…" His eyes were narrowed and the company below them scarcely drew breath.

"You know, we get that a lot. It's my cousin Bombur," he said quickly, "he's such a wide load, sometimes we look like a larger troop than we are. Why there was one time in South Downs we were mistaken for a party of ten, which suited Bombur fine because he can eat…"

"Shut up!" the King shouted, his patience clearly lost. "You talk too much. Bring me the putrefier, I'm going to burn out his tongue."

"Wait!" Lyra said stepping forward again. "Before you do that, let me sing a song for you." Thorin was giving her a 'what-the-hell-are-you-doing' look at that she had to ignore. "It only seems fair to return the favor after your… _excellent_ performance…Then you can cut out his tongue!"

"Seems reasonable," the Goblin King said plopping onto his throne. "Sing, and if I don't like your song, I'll cut out your tongue too."

"Fair enough…" Without the aid of her guitar she cleared her throat. "Here's to the Goblin King…"

 _There's such a sad love  
Deep in your eyes A kind of pale jewel  
Open and closed Within your eyes  
I'll place the sky  
Within your eyes_

 _There's such a fooled heart  
Beatin' so fast  
In search of new dreams  
A love that will last  
Within your heart  
I'll place the moon  
Within your heart_

 _As the pain sweeps through,  
Makes no sense for you  
Every thrill is gone  
Wasn't too much fun at all,  
But I'll be there for you  
As the world falls down_

 _Falling  
Falling down  
Falling in love_

Lyra was doing her best to keep them distracted as Bofur jumped down to the others and Thorin and Bombur began passing the weapons down. Unsure of how this was going to play out she kept singing wishing there were more verses.

 _I'll paint you mornings of gold  
I'll spin you Valentine evenings  
Though we're strangers 'til now,  
We're choosing the path  
Between the stars  
I'll leave my love  
Between the stars_

 _As the pain sweeps through,  
Makes no sense for you  
Every thrill is gone  
Wasn't too much fun at all,  
But I'll be there for you-ou-ou  
As the world falls down_

 _Falling  
As the world falls down  
Falling  
As the world falls down  
Falling  
Falling  
Falling  
Falling in love  
As the world falls down, falling  
Falling  
Falling  
Falling in love_

Her song ended and she held the gaze of the Goblin King. He was gazing at her with wide and watery eyes. For a moment it looked as though he were going to smile.

"Bring me the Skin Slicer!

"Wait!" Thorin yelled as he ran to stand between Lyra and the Goblin King.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" he asked in a cooing voice as he stepped closer. Thorin used his arm to push Lyra behind him. "If it isn't Thorin son of Thrain, King under the…wait…what was it you were supposed to be king of again?"

"I'll not listen to taunts from the likes of you," Thorin spat. The massive goblin snarled and his huge hand shot out to wrap around Thorin's throat. "I know someone who'll pay a pretty price for your head." Thorin was struggling to breathe, his feet barely touching the ground. The goblin turned to look at Lyra. "You…he wants alive."

Neither had time to process his words when a blinding white light flashed through the cavern like a strobe. There was a rush of wind so powerful it knocked Lyra into Thorin's back. The goblin King was knocked clean over and he rolled and thrashed like a shelless turtle. Thorin was quick to his feet drawing his sword that shimmered in the flames.

"The Biter!" The Goblin King shouted in fear. "Kill them! Kill them all!" as the other goblins recovered themselves, they realized the dwarves had escaped to the lower levels and their screams and screeches flooded the air.

"Lyra!" The shout came from below. She looked down and saw Kili holding her sword. Tossing it up to her and she had time to brandish it before he creatures were upon them. Her back pressed tightly against Thorin's as she protected his flank.

Blades swinging, Lyra and Thorin hacked their way to the ledge, the bodies of the fallen goblins thunking and collapsing around them. "This way, hurry!" Lyra turned toward the familiar voice to see Gandalf standing on the platform across from them.

"Go!" Thorin yelled to her as he provided cover while she ran and jumped across the gap. Gandalf ushered her down a ladder toward the others, his own sword slicing through the air and into flesh. Soon she was on the ground below with the others who used both weapon and plank to clear the path ahead. Thorin flew overhead as he leapt across and landed by Gandalf.

"Come on, we know the way out!" Fili shouted and they all eagerly followed.

The goblins were pouring out of tunnels like water out of a compressed sponge and the company fled for their lives, pausing only to hack at the bodies that stood between them and escape. Thorin was quick to her side as they raced behind Balin and Fili who had taken the helm.

"Keep moving!" Dwalin roared from the rear. "Take it down!" he cried pointing to the wooden structure overhead. As they ran through the narrowing tunnel, they each took a slice at the support beams until finally, Gloin, the last of them to run through, used his axe to bring the tower down. It crashed behind them kicking up dust and debri, but it successfully blocked their path.

"That'll buy us time, but not much," Thorin stated as they all took a moment to catch their breath.

"Biblo," Lyra said breathlessly.

"I saw him, in the tunnel before," Kili said.

"He found us," Balin replied. "That's how we knew you'd been captured. We left him to stand guard by the exit."

"Then let's get out of here, quickly," Thorin recommended.

"It's this way, just down the path." Thorin moved into the lead as he was directed and Lyra was hot on his heels. They could see the opening in the cave in the distance just over a long narrow bridge that was suspended by ropes, the moonlight now turned to dawn as light poured through the doorway.

Bursting through the wooden beams from below the King screamed, "There they are, kill them!" More goblins and their leader were racing from the pathway beneath them, the creatures climbing up the planks and pouring over the bridge to block their path.

"Turn back," Thorin said and tried pushing everyone backward.

"Up there!" Looking up in time, they could faintly make out the light of a blue sword cutting away at ropes. It moved effortlessly, ropes snapping free. The goblins were none-too aware until it was too late. The final rope holding the bridge up was cut and with a final creak and groan from the wood, the bridge collapsed.

The dwarves cheered as the goblins fell back down the ravine with the crumbling bridge. The Goblin King leapt and managed to cling to the side of the cliff they stood on. Gandalf peered over the edge at the mammoth of a hobgoblin. Knowing he was moments away from falling, he uttered a final "uh oh," before Gandalf lifted his staff and japed it into the goblin's eye. Crying in pain, his grip failed and his weight caused him careen into the dark chasm below.

When the echo of the collapse faded, dust still lingering in the clogged air, they looked around at one another almost in disbelief before they all erupted into laughter. Sharing hugs and clapping shoulders their disbelief gave way to relief.

"What on earth just happened?" Bofur asked.

"I think we should ask our burglar." They all followed Gandalf's line of sight to the hobbit who was climbing down from the ledge above them.

"Bilbo," Lyra said exhaling a breath she didn't know she was holding. When his large feet finally hit the ground she raced to him and gave him a tight hug.

"Where on earth have _you_ been hiding?" Thorin snapped. "We searched all over these caves looking for you."

"That's not important now," Gandalf chimed in and Lyra felt pleased to finally have backup when it came to defending the hobbit. "What we should be doing is thanking him for clearing our path."

"Destroying our path is more likely, now how are we to cross?" Thorin asked, his gruff voice still harsh.

"I've thought of that too," Bilbo replied and unknotted two ropes from the railing he'd left intact. Everyone stared for a moment.

"Well…we'd best be quick about it before those buggers come back," Dwalin decided taking one of the ropes and swinging across the gap. When he landed he tossed the rope back and two at a time they began crossing.

"He saved our lives," Lyra said quietly as she and Thorin helped the others cross. "We both know how this could have ended." Thorin didn't reply right away but gave her the slightest nod. They swung across together and, despite the extra time it took to get Bombur across after he dangled like a broken pendulum for a few minutes, they were soon quickly up and out of the caves and descending the mountain in the late hours of morning.

…

They were still high up in the grassy cliffs that surrounded the mountains, but the thick trees provided some cover and they were able to rest for a few minutes and drink from a fresh stream.

"How ever did you find us?" Fili asked Gandalf when the canteens were full.

"That, you owe in part to Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf replied. "He had the sense to light a fire at the cave opening. It didn't take long to follow the trail."

"Then you knew we were safe," Thorin said in observation to Bilbo who was had both of his hands in his pockets. "Why did you come back then?"

"Because," he said with a small shrug, "I thought you might need me." Lyra smiled at him.

"We certainly did!" Gandalf cheered.

"I'll say so!"

"I know you doubt me," Bilbo continued, "honestly, I've doubted myself. I miss my home…my books and my garden, but I'll never be able to go back and sit in my arm chair with a cup of tea knowing I left you all out here with no home, nowhere to go. If anyone took my home away from me…well I would hope that I was as brave as you to try and take it back again."

"Aye, that's good of you lad," Balin said with a tear in his eye as he placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "Wherever things stood before, you're one of us now."

"I need to speak with you," Lyra whispered to Thorin and the two subtly moved away from the others. As she stood in front of him behind a cluster of trees, the elated feeling he'd had when they'd kissed returned and he hoped she was about to repeat the action. "We can't stay here," she said in a low tone.

"We're well away from the cave entrance, I don't think the goblins will follow us this far down. We could all do with a nights rest," he observed but she was shaking her head.

"Do you remember what the Goblin King said? About the price on your head?" Thorin nodded. "It's Azog…he's still alive."

"That cannot be."

"He is Thorin. He's the one who put the bounty on you. He's tracking us through the mountains and if I'm right, they're going to find us…tonight."

"You're wrong."

"We have to go."

"I killed him myself. He died of his wounds."

"He didn't."

"No!" Thorin yelled and his fist collided with the tree behind her head. Instinctively Lyra had dropped into a crouch and covered her head even though in the back of her mind she knew he wasn't angry with her.

"Thorin!" Gandalf hollered but it wasn't due to his violence. "We have a problem!" Thorin looked apologetically down at Lyra before rejoining the others. "We're still being hunted," Gandalf said pointing upward to the ridge they'd just come from.

In the early moments of sunset they could faintly make out the silhouette of a massive orc sitting atop a warg. There was no mistaking the pale skin atop a white warg and partially severed arm that had since been replaced with a pronged blade.

"Azog," he breathed and felt the rush of fear and anger sweep over him again.

"This is no place to fend off an attack," Gandalf advised. "We should run. Now!"

No one needed a second encouragement. They were quick on their feet and soon racing down the mountain and into the dense woods.

…

"We can't keep this pace," Balin said sweat dripping from his head. They were hours into their retreat and still had miles to go before they were clear into the valleys. Twice they'd been overtaken by warg scouts and had to dispense of them before they could continue.

This was nothing like the scouting party that had tried to overtake them before they were forced into Rivendell. The larger wargs were clearly for battle and their speed was unrelenting.

"Gandalf," Lyra said trying to catch her breath. The two days without food or sleep was draining all of them and adrenaline was on its last reserves. "Gwaihir…how far are we from Eagle's Eyrie?"

"Too far," he replied but the glimmer of a sudden idea hit him. "We'll have to risk it…" Stretching his staff far overhead, a bright beam of light shot out of the top and into the night sky. The beam split and began to crackle like sparks.

"What are you doing? You've given away our position?" Thorin yelled.

"They already know where we are," Gandalf reasoned. "But now so does help. Quickly, to the cliffs!" Without waiting for a rebuttal he took the lead and they could hear horns and howls behind them as they raced for safety.

"This had better work!" Dori cried.

"We're trapped!" Dwalin said coming to a halt at the edge of the mountain. There was no way to climb down the side and looking behind them they could see movement pouring through the trees as the wargs closed in.

"Climb, quickly! Into the trees."

Thorin reached a hand down and pulled Lyra up next to him and she in turn reached down for Bilbo who had to jump to grab her hand.

"Come on!" she yelled struggling for a moment to pull him up. It wasn't a moment too soon as Bilbo was able to grab the branch when the first of the wargs reached them.

They stood tall on their haunches, claws hacking into the trees like razors. Their teeth snarled and they barked wildly.

"Arrows!" Thorin ordered. Kili and Ori, the only two archers, found their footing and fired as quickly as they could from the tree next to them. As several orcs raced toward them, Gandalf lit the pinecones on fire and their burning sap spread like napalm when thrown. Using the flames they all began hurling what they could, the flames licking at the trees and limbs crashing around them

Lyra couldn't help her scream as the warg at her feet managed a foothold in the trunk and reached the branch she was on. Thorin drove his sword into the warg's head killing it, but as its body fell the weight took him with and he fell from the tree.

"Thorin!" Lyra shouted as he landed hard on the ground surrounded by orcs and flames. A loud roar and mighty crash made time slow as Azog tore through the line of trees. "No!" Lyra shrieked, sudden tears mixing with sweat as the pale orc swung the blunt end of a mace like a club and struck Thorin under the jaw sending him flying across the ground.

"Thorin!" Dwalin shouted. He tried to jump from the tree he and some of the others were in, but it was already cracking as fire spread and the dry wood splintered. The tree tumbled backward and the dwarves cried out as it fell toward the cliffs edge.

"Lyra no," Bilbo said reaching for her but she jumped from the tree and landed hard enough for her knees to buckle. With a cry of rage she drew her sword and found it too easy to slice through the orc in front of her. Cut nearly in half the body fell and she dodged the warg's head as it whipped around to bite her. Using two hands she hacked through the neck of the animal and blood poured out of the wound as it collapsed.

"Leave him alone!" Lyra hollered as she raced to stand over Thorin who was slow to pick himself up. The blow to his head left a gash on his temple that was leaking blood into his eyes. The fire around them was burning her skin, but Lyra felt like she was in a trance her eyes were so focused on the orc.

"Najor'uk uorkormajal…" Azog grunted in his filthy language as he turned his warg back to face them. _He's_ mine. Lyra was gripping her sword with both hands and holding the tip so it was pointed directly at him. The anger in her surged so fiercely she felt no ounce of fear as she stared hard into the monster's eyes.

She felt Thorin stand to his feet behind her. He placed a hand on her arm to push the weapon down. Shaking her head she felt hot tears running down her face. "No," she protested in a voice barely above a whisper.

"This is not your battle," he said lowly and she watched powerlessly as Thorin drew his sword and ran toward Azog. The other orcs didn't leave her any time as they descended on her and she was forced to break her gaze to defend herself.

Thorin launched himself off an overturned log and brought his sword down hard on Azog's replaced arm. He was deflected and tossed backward but he managed to roll to his feet again. He took up his shield and slammed his arm into the warg's face to disorient it. Rage filled him as the weight of his failed retribution sunk in. The years of failure taunted him with every grin Azog threw; his grandfather's death, his father's madness, his failure to kill the orc and avenge his lineage.

With a mighty swing of his sword he unseated Azog who tumbled to the ground. His mind was so engaged in the battle he was deaf to the cries of his companions as he approached Azog who was still lying on his back. That was his mistake. The white warg attacked him from behind and Thorin cried out as he felt the vice-like jaws clamp over his left shoulder and torso. His feet left the ground and with a thrash he was thrown several yards where he slammed into a rock and his world spun.

Lyra kicked the orc to free her blade from its chest in time to see Thorin bitten. She was vaguely aware of her own scream as her legs pumped against the ground and the moment he was released from its jaws the tip of her sword pierced the white warg between the eyes. It twitched violently, its tongue rolling out of its mouth as it dropped to the ground.

Azog was on his feet and walking toward her. She yanked as hard as she could but her sword wouldn't release on the first pull and by the second there was a massive hand wrapped around her throat that hoisted her off the ground. Her airway was squeezed shut and she clawed at the hand in effort to breathe.

"Lat'll paausan for avhaav …" _you'll pay for that._ Azog lifted his claw but before his arm came down on her, Bilbo's small form, with great force, tackled the orc taking him off guard and forcing him to the ground.

Lyra coughed as she rolled away from the scuffle. Having nearly passed out from the lack of oxygen she was rasping in air to regain her senses. Dwalin and the two princes had escaped the falling tree and were tearing through the orcs and remaining wargs trying to fight their way to them.

Bilbo cried out as Azog backhanded him and Lyra stumbled to her feet. She retrieved her sword and made to charge, but her path was suddenly blocked an enormous set of wings. The wind whipped around her as she the enormous wings flapped so vigorously the embers of the smoldering fire flew into firestorm.

Dori let out a horrified shout as he fell from the uprooted tree only to land on the back of a swooping Eagle. Gandalf had done it! He'd called for aid from his old friend Gwaihir, the greatest of the Eagles. Lyra crawled to Bilbo and helped him to his feet.

"This way," she said practically dragging him to the edge of the cliff. The eagles were swooping and diving in and out of the hoard of orcs and wargs, picking them up in their talons and flinging them over the side, dropping stones on their heads, and beating their giant wings. Gandalf helped Bilbo onto the back of an eagle and reached for Lyra but she was already racing back for Thorin.

Lyra ducked under a crude sword that an orc was swung at her, she sliced it across the abdomen with her blade. There was a terrible shriek to her left as one of the eagles was being attacked by a warg. Darting past a burning log, she picked up the limb and swing it hard to smash the animal over the head. It yelped, its fur catching fire and it ran off. The eagle didn't hesitate to dip its head and nudge her to get on its back.

"Climb on young one," the angelic voice of the eagle called. She looked pleadingly at it and then to Thorin, words lost as her adrenaline surging. "Hurry," the female eagle said. Lyra jumped over a rock and reached Thorin.

"Thorin wake up," she screamed and shook him. She could see the puncture wounds on his chest and his head was still bleeding. Azog was yelling in rage and the eagle was having a hard time keeping him at bay as the pale orc slashed with his hook. A guttural fury erupted in Lyra as she grabbed him by the shoulders. "Move soldier!" As though emitting a pulse of energy from her body, a blast of wind shot around them and extinguished the fire. Her body humming with strength she began dragging him toward the cliff edge.

Meeting them halfway, the eagle she'd rescued from the warg flew overhead and wrapped a large talon around the fallen dwarf. Lyra gripped a handful of feathers and launched herself onto the bird's back. With a hard push of her wings they were in the air and world disappeared underneath them.

They fell in line with the other eagles who were carrying the twelve dwarves, hobbit and wizard. Lyra began to shake as her adrenaline levels dropped and she tucked her face into the warmth of the bird.

"Rest little one. You're safe now."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N Hey guys! New Chapter! BTW I took a few liberties with eagle gender…because…fanfiction, lol. This was a fun chapter to write and hopefully answers a few questions people sent. Since I'm leaving for vacation I will do my best to update after 5 reviews, so please be generous with your feedback!**

They flew long past dawn. Lyra's body was on the verge of collapse but her fear for Thorin kept her from sleeping. He hadn't stirred the entire flight and the moment they landed on the large hilltop nest, Lyra was on the ground racing to him.

"Steady," the eagle hummed as she stumbled, her legs having fallen asleep during the flight. Using her beak to help support Lyra, she was able to reach Thorin where Gandalf was already kneeling.

"He'll be alright," the wizard said before she could ask, his warm, gray eyes remaining on the dwarf. The others were gathering around as the eagles dropped them off. Kili and Fili were quick to Lyra's side and she wrapped an arm around each of them, the three holding one another up for support. Gandalf was muttering in elvish. When Thorin's eyes flickered opened Lyra nearly burst into tears and the two princes cried in joy.

"The halfling…" Thorin said barely able to sit up. The last thing the dwarf had seen before succumbing to oblivion was Azog turning on the hobbit with a brandished sword.

"He's alright. We're all safe." Dwalin helped Thorin to his feet and he marched so directly toward the hobbit, Bilbo took several steps backward fearing he was about to be hit.

"I've doubted you every day from the moment you stepped outside your house," Thorin started but sank to one knee to placed his hands on Bilbo's shoulders, "and now I am very sorry for it." He pulled the hobbit into a hug. "I'll never doubt you again."

"I would have doubted me too," Bilbo admitted when they parted from their embrace. "I'm not a Took, or a warrior…I'm not even a burglar. But I _am_ your friend." Thorin gripped his forearm and pulled him closer, the others still cheering their delight they were in a momentary reprieve after two close run-ins with death.

"You not only came to my defense, but you protected Lyra when I could not…for that I owe you more than I can repay." The two exchanged a meaningful look before Thorin turned, the woman in question still embracing his two nephews. The sight warmed him. Unlike previous moments, this time the two young dwarves were holding on to her, not as a woman, but like a mother. "You never listen do you," he said when he reached her, Fili and Kili moving aside.

"Not as a habit," she said trying to laugh but she was sniffling and her eyes were red. He took her into his arms and she buried her face in his neck. The feel of her finally against him was perfect as he lifted her off the ground and her hands clutched his back.

"I hate to break up the moment," Gandalf said quietly to the two of them, "but we should be moving. We need to find shelter before nightfall."

"Where can we find shelter out here?" Thorin asked reluctantly letting go of Lyra.

"Beorn's," Lyra answered.

"That was my idea, but I do not know if it's a good one or not…"

"He hates orcs more than he'll hates us. He'll help us in the end," Lyra confirmed.

"Let's be quick then," Gandalf encouraged.

The others were quick to pack the few things they'd been able to salvage, their cooking items and food stores along with most of their warm clothing had been left behind in the hurry. Lyra didn't even attempt to hide her tears when Nori and Ori presented her guitar case they'd protected heroically. She hugged them both, knowing the Singing Bowl was safely tucked inside. To hell with her lighters, this was treasure.

"Thank you," Lyra said stroking the beak of the eagle who's transported her to safety. "I don't know your name."

"Landrovar," she said bowing her head lower, streaks of her red feathers catching the sunlight.

"I am in debt to you, Landrovar, if ever you have a need of me I am at your service," Lyra promised. With a final bow, the two parted and Lyra followed behind the others as they descended the crest of the hill.

"Look!" Dori yelled. They all stared in the distance the direction he was pointing.

"The Lonely Mountain," Gandalf observed, the peak visible in the morning light. Thorin turned to look back at his company, a genuine smile spread across his face.

"Home."

…

"This Beorn, is he friend or foe?" Thorin asked when they had finally reached the valley floor. Everyone was panting for breath, the sun was just beginning to lower in the sky, and exhaustion was imminent.

"Neither," Gandalf said vaguely. "He is a very great friend of Radagast the Brown, but that will not save us. Beorn has no great love of men or dwarves…come to think of it he's not very fond of elves or travelers…"

"Tell me again why we're seeking him out then?" Thorin questioned with increased frustration.

"Because of that," Lyra said pointing to the peak of the mountain they had just descended. They could see very faintly the black dots of wargs racing across the hill undoubtedly sniffing for their scent. "They're searching for us. We may be upwind now, but come nighttime we're, to put it plainly, screwed."

"Beorn's hall is well protected by both enchantment and landscape. His boarders are well guarded," Gandalf added. "It's not far."

"Let's go," Thorin acquiesced.

Gandalf led the way, ever driving them to keep up. Lyra's legs were ready to give out when they escaped from the tree line and in the far distance across a field of purple flowers, she could see a dark line on the horizon.

"Come on Bilbo," Lyra said taking his hand in hers and pulling him along. "We're almost there." The encouragement was just as much for her own sake as well as his.

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks when an earth-shaking roar shattered the silence from behind them. Where they had just left in line of trees emerged the black mass of what one could only assume was a bear. It was five times the size of any bear any of them had seen before and as it rose on its hind legs, it stood nearly as tall as the trees it was next to.

"Go!"

Their legs pumped harder than they had before, feet barely hitting the ground before lifting again. Gandalf was shouting, the bear was chasing, and everyone was desperate for this horrendous game of cat and mouse to be over.

The bear was closing the gap when they reached the horizon and what Lyra had only seen as a dark like before, was actually a twenty-foot wall covered in vines. They made it through the gate and passed along the path, none of them stopping to observe their surroundings as they crashed upon the front door of the main hall like waves on the shore.

Everyone was screaming and shouting as they clawed at the lock and handle, Thorin finally lifting the bolt away and they poured inside when the door opened. Seconds after the heavy door was shut and the crossbar engaged, the bear slammed against the wood that creaked and sprayed dust at the impact. No one dared to move until the snuffing and scratching faded as they bear retreated.

"I'm so tired of running!" Lyra shouted in part with anger and part enervation. She collapsed on the ground, her body spent and her legs shaking.

"What manner of creature was that?" Oin asked as they all slipped to the ground in the front room.

" _That_ ," Gandalf said, "is Beorn."

"You failed to mention he was a bear!"

"He is not a bear," Gandalf argued and all of the dwarves looked at him in perplexity. "Well…not all of the time. He is a changeling, one of the last of his kind. He hunts the mountainsides during full moons. The bear is wild and unpredictable, but the man is reasonable. We should get some rest tonight. I'll wager he shall return tomorrow evening when the moon fades."

Dwalin had to help Lyra up as she and the others took stock of their surroundings. The hall was built of thick wood like a cabin and the rafters overhead were high and littered with birds. There were no banners or tapestries, but the floor was made of stone and polished planks.

Past the front entryway the room opened into a long hall with a firepit in the center. Ori and Bifur set to work getting the fire going while Bofur and Bombur used the massive black pot and the shelves of food stores to begin a meal.

Lyra moved from the main room that was used for dining and hosting to discover there were several bedrooms on one side of the house much like an Inn. The largest of the rooms had a bundle of linens on the floor where a large gray dog slept. It perked its head up and trotted over once it spotted her. The happy way it wagged its tail and licked her face was reassuring as the large animal stood nearly shoulder high.

The dog moved back to the pile of blankets and Lyra spotted a double painting resting on the table next to the bed. When she took it in her hands she saw a tall man standing with a beautiful woman with dark hair and a young boy on one side and on the other side was a grown bear, a smaller bear and a baby bear. Reminded of the story of goldilocks she smiled to herself. Realizing it was probably portraits of Beorn's family and this was likely his room, she felt she was imposing and moved back into the main hall.

"You should get something to eat," Thorin said as she walked over to him where he sat on a bench at one of the long tables.

"I'm too tired to eat, besides I want to look at those punctures," she said to him. He looked as though he were about to protest but she took hold of his arm and pulled him to his feet. "Please, I'm too exhausted to argue. Just let me look and I'll leave you alone," she pleaded. Thorin was likely too spent to argue with her either so he consented.

Those that shared Lyra's level of energy and didn't bother waiting to eat were already tucked into their bedrolls and fast asleep and those that were waiting on food were struggling to keep their own eyes open. The hall was warm, especially with the lit fire, and the warm glow gave them a sense of comfort and safety they hadn't had in days.

Lyra waited patiently as Thorin stripped of his cloak and tunic and she helped him unfasted his mail shirt. Had she not been so tired, she would have felt the intimacy of the moment. "Oh God," she muttered seeing the three teeth bites on his shoulder and back.

"It doesn't hurt much," Thorin said trying to reassure her.

"Liar," she challenged and fetched a pitcher of water and a rag to begin wiping the blood off his chest and cleaning the wounds.

He sat silently and unflinching as he let her administer treatment. His body was rent, but his mind was still replaying the events of the last few days. What stood out remarkably to him was the beautiful and tender woman in front of him who was washing his wounds with such delicate hands when only hours ago he'd seen her nearly possessed with the spirit of Durin himself.

He'd seen a ferocity in her that was astounding. He'd known her for nearly half a year now and the Lyra he was familiar with could be described as charming, funny, strong and hard headed…but in the moments of battle, first at the goblin city when the two had fought back to back and then when she'd fought the wargs and orcs at the mountainside, he was startled by the shift in her.

More than once she had mentioned she had experience in war, but until that time he wasn't entirely certain of her capacity. Now he remembered clearly the look on her face when she'd stood valiantly between him and Azog. There was no doubt in his mind she would have protected him until death. Though he'd been slipping in and out of consciousness, he remembered the guttural cries from her as she dragged his body toward safety. Death had been imminent for him but she had appeared before him, blood dripping from her hands and sword, and rescued him.

Thorin had a newfound respect and admiration for the woman in front of him. Anyone would be loathed to come between her and what she fought to protect. His heart swelled at the thought that he was one of those things.

"That'll do for now," she said rinsing the rag. She'd been able to fasten a few bandages and fortunately the wounds were already closing. "Here," she said handing him a glass of water. He tipped it back and drank and she began wiping at the dried blood on his face.

"Azog," he said shortly as he stared up into her face, "you knew he was alive."

"I did," she answered.

"You didn't tell me."

"What good would it have done?" she asked. "You knew there was a price on your head. Did it matter who put it there?"

"Yes," he growled. "I thought I had avenged my grandfather by killing him, I was wrong."

"Then we'll just have to kill him again," Lyra said pausing to look into his eyes. "He won't stop hunting you. He'll track us all the way to Erebor and if we don't stop him, he'll bring an army against you. I'll kill him myself if I have…"

"No," Thorin barked and took her hands firmly in his. "I said it before but this battle is not yours. When it comes time, you will leave Azog to me."

"I won't promise that."

"You will," he maintained. "You'll not deny me my right to vengeance."

"What if he kills you?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"Then my only hope is that I drag him to the grave with me," Thorin replied and he was startled to see two hot tears leak from her eyes.

"And I'm just supposed to let that happen because you're too stubborn to accept help?" Her words had a bite to them.

"Peace," he said squeezing her hand. "There's nothing to gain from arguing this tonight." He ended the conversation for the simple fact he didn't have the energy for it and Lyra seemed to share the idea as she simply nodded. Had she her usual fighting spirit she never would have given up so easily.

His body felt heavy and stiff and he was grateful Lyra helped him pull his shirt back on. Gandalf's magic had done much, but didn't do anything to help his aching muscles. Draping one of his arms over her shoulder, she helped him to the ground where his bedroll was and he grabbed her hand when she made to leave.

"Sleep by me tonight," he requested and she arched an eyebrow. "If you're so determined to keep me alive, I imagine you'll want to stand guard." She rolled her eyes at his taunt but didn't argue. Grabbing her sleeping bag and slipping inside she gave him one last soft and lazy smile before she was fast asleep. He looked at her for a long moment, her chest gently rising and falling, before he let sleep overtake him,

….

 _The battlefield was wrought with blood and the cries of dying dwarves. Thorin looked around him, bodies were stacked knee deep. His hands were heavy and he couldn't lift his sword. Shadows moved around him, the stench of death filled his lungs and his heart churned in his chest as his feet carried him toward the gates of Moria._

 _Towering over the decapitated body of his treasured grandfather was Azog. Roaring in triumph the pale orc raised the dripping head that still bore the crown of Erebor and flung it toward him. Tears obscured Thorin's eyes as it rolled on the ground to rest at his feet. Eyes still open and staring up at him, his grandfather's lifeless mouth began to croak_ , " _you failed me Thorin…failed me. You failed me Thorin…"_

"Thorin!"

His eyes snapped open and cold sweat pouring from his body. The room had gone dark but he could see Lyra crouching over him with fear in her eyes.

"Thorin, shh you were having a nightmare, you're safe," she reassured him. The wild look in his eyes dissipated as reality came back to him. He squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with an arm. The haunting image of his grandfather was still fresh in his mind and he couldn't keep the tears from falling.

Lyra felt her heart breaking as she watched Thorin shake with restrained tears. Whatever he'd dreamt of had rattled him to the core. He was always so strong, so certain and confident, but in this moment he looked like a lost child.

"Come here," she said and helped him to sit up. She reclined against the wall and pulled him toward her to rest his head on her lap. Turning his head to face her stomach, she smoothed his hair with her fingers and he wrapped his arms around her.

 _Quiet your heart  
It's just a dream  
Go back to sleep_

 _I'll be right here  
I'll stay awake as long as you need me  
To slay all the dragons  
And keep out the monsters  
I'm watching over you_

 _My love is a light  
Driving away all of your fear  
So don't be afraid  
Remember I made a promise to keep you safe_

 _You'll have your own battles to fight  
When you are older  
You'll find yourself frozen inside  
But always remember_

 _If you feel alone  
Facing the giants  
And you don't know  
What to do_

 _My love is a light  
Driving away all of your fear  
So don't be afraid  
Remember I made a promise to keep you safe_

The only sign he was at last asleep has the way his grip on her loosened and his breathing was steadier. Lyra wiped tears from under her eyes as she bent to kiss him on the temple and lay her head back to sleep away the rest of the night.

…

Everyone slept past dawn and Lyra woke hearing whispers and shuffling feet. Opening her eyes, she first saw Bombur and Bofur setting out an array of food and then Dwalin and Balin looking toward her. She smiled softly and made to stand up and feeling the weight on her lap she remembered the slumbering dwarf. Thorin was still asleep and she had to slowly shuffle from under his head and gently tucked a blanket under him.

"Good morning," she said stepping over to the two brothers. Dwalin handed her a wooden cup of wine and she thanked him.

"Sleep well?" he asked but there was a terseness to his tone she hadn't heard before.

"I did and you?" she asked but neither of them answered. "Alright what is it?" she questioned directly.

"I'll not mince words with ya lass," Dwalin started. "I respect you and Durin knows we've not got a better breath of luck on our side than you, but that man is my greatest friend, he's my king. I've sworn to protect him from all harm and…and that's all I'll say," Dwalin finished and walked off. Lyra felt a sting of accusation that she tried not to personalize.

"Don't take offense lass," Balin said in a kinder voice, "my brother means well but he's not the most eloquent when it comes to these matters."

"What _matters_ would that be?"

"Aye, I've not patronize you I ask you don't do the same to me," Balin said firmly. "It doesn't take much to see Thorin is fond of you and I'll not presume to know your feelings, but I ask that you take care in how you treat him."

"You think I'd hurt him?" The sting of the allegation and her fatigue were making her irritable.

"Maybe not deliberately, but these things can get messy under the best of circumstances. You've been married once before, you said, I'm sure I don't need to lecture you on pains of the heart…"

"No you don't."

"Then I'll say this and be done: any woman would be lucky to earn the love of that man. Dwarves don't love easily and Thorin has more reason to bear a heart of stone than most. Should he declare his affection for you, try to let him down easy."

"What makes you think I'd reject him?" she asked and took another long drink of wine. Surviving orcs, goblins, and speeches was cause for day drinking, right?

"You're human, he's dwarrow, that's a challenge in and of itself, but he's not common folk he's a king and you're not from these lands. Mahal willing he'll sit the throne of Erebor until his final days and when our quest is over, won't you return to your world?"

"I…I don't know," Lyra said honestly. For the first time since their first night together in Hobbiton she looked around the room at the dwarves and felt she didn't belong.

"Please don't think I'm being unkind," Balin said taking her hand in his, "I'd like nothing more than to see you both happy. I'm just trying to caution you, should you stay this path…it won't be an easy road."

"Is there no chance then?" she asked in a small voice as she watched Thorin slowly begin to rise. He was looking around as he sat up on his forearms as though searching for her.

"Aye there's a chance and if anyone could see it done, it'd likely be you. Just don't make that decision lightly. For everyone's sake." He tenderly kissed her hand and squeezed her shoulder before moving over to the table where the food was.

"Lyra, what happened to your cheek?" Ori asked when they were gathered around the table filling their plates with bread, eggs, and dried meat. Lyra looked up at him as he was standing across the table next to Thorin.

"Must be from the orcs," she said gently touching the bruise she knew was forming over a small cut. Her lie worked for most of them but Thorin looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"That wasn't there yesterday," he said moving around to stand by her as they continued to fill their plate.

"Don't worry about it," she mumbled.

"Tell me," he insisted. She didn't reply but instead continued to scoop honey onto her bread roll. "Lyra," he said and reached to touch her face. Instinctively she flinched and moved away from him knowing Balin and Dwalin were watching them.

"Please don't," she whispered harshly and finally looked up at him. His brows were furrowed. She'd never withdrawn from him like that. As he searched his mind he remembered their encounter the night before when she'd woken him from his nightmare. Looking down he saw a bit of dried blood on his hand where he wore a ring.

"Did I…"

"You were having a nightmare, it was an accident," she said quickly and moved away from him to sit on the other side of the room between Bilbo and Gandalf.

"I've upset her," he said when Dwalin walked over to her.

"Aye…I think we both have," he said honestly and clapped Thorin on the back to lead him to where Balin was sitting. "Let me explain…"

…

The sun was just starting its downward decent when Lyra was able to slip from the main hall. She was eager to look around the grounds without interruption. They'd been able to fill a few basins with water to clean themselves and the others had granted her privacy while she washed first.

Stepping outside she could see Beorn's land was surrounded entirely by the high wall covered in thick, dark vines. On the side of the house she was there were several wooden boxes filled with flowers, vegetables, four fruit trees and a pond where two large swans were resting.

In the back easternmost corner were rows of harvested bee hives that were buzzing with large bees. Their honey was fragrant and thickened the air with the sweet aroma. Across from the hives was a tall barn with a long fence where beautiful long-maned horses trotted between the wall and the house. A few small sheds littered the property, but she was content to find a rock on the far side of the pond to sit on.

Her body was still sore from the days of running and the battles, but what hurt most was the muscle beating in her chest. She hadn't allowed herself to think or say it directly, but the dwarven king was…important to her. More than she ever could have anticipated.

When she'd first arrived in Middle Earth her first fear was begin left behind on the quest. Over time that had faded to her fear of not knowing whether she could affect change and save the sons of Durin. Now woven into the quest and with the Singing Bowl at her disposal she feared two things: leaving…and staying.

Lyra looked up from her hands as she heard footsteps. She forced a half smile as she saw Thorin rounding the corner of the house. "There you are," he said approaching her. "None of us should wander far."

"I'm still in the garden," she replied looking around her. Knowing him, she could read the expression on his face; he was thinking of something he wanted to say but was struggling to find the words. "What is it, Thorin?"

"Before," he began quietly, his eyes suddenly leaving hers. "You flinched."

"Huh?"

"At the table, you-you recoiled from my touch." So he _had_ noticed.

"Yeah, um," she cleared her throat, "I…just startled me is all." It sounded pathetic even as she thought it, but her mouth was moving quicker than her brain.

"Startled?" he asked moving closer to where she was perched. "I remember last night, when you woke me. I know I must have struck you."

"It was an accident, Thorin. But if you wanted to hit me, you could have at least made it hurt a little more," she tried to tease but the look on his face was anything but amused.

"I would not have you be frightened of me…"

"I'm not!"

"…or my touch." He'd approached more closely and was within arm's reach making her stomach flip.

"Your touch?" she asked slowly, hoping he would both elaborate and leave at the same time.

"I would never want to harm you," he answered, "I would never have you think that, nor would I have you recoil…should you touch me again." He stepped closer. From her seated position on the rock, her knees were almost touching his hips.

"You…want me to touch you?" She could feel the heat burning from her chest down to her thighs. He looked almost amused at the innocence and double meaning of the question.

"Should it happen," he replied and took that final step until her knees were against him, "I would not want you to think it unwelcome." He looked as though he was tempted to place his hands on her legs, and instead settled on resting them on the rock on either side of her. "Quite the opposite, in fact." His eyes were burning into her and the flutters in her stomach erupted into her chest and she smiled. The sweltering look of desire in his eyes pushing away all thoughts of her morning conversation.

"For once we agree on something," she stated, his boldness giving her the courage to reciprocate. He returned the smile with a grin of his own, his large hand rising to gently brush her cheek, his thumb grazing the cut, before cupping her face. Her eyes dropped as she felt the roughness of his callouses against her smooth skin.

"Lyra," he breathed in a voice deeper than usual and she felt the slight pull of his hand to bring her eyes back to his. His other hand grazed her hip as he moved in closer, her eyes darting to his mouth. His breath barely tickled her face when a clatter from the corner of the house startled him away from her. Lyra, also alarmed by the sudden loud noise, slipped from the rock and managed to land on her feet. Both of their eyes darted to the direction of the clamor.

Bofur and Bombur were scrambling to pick up the fallen garden tools while Bifur stood staring at them with a large smile. He lingered a moment too long and his cousin had to grab him by the scruff of the neck to pull him away.

"Sorry, sorry, continue," Bofur muttered as they disappeared around the corner. Lyra was shaking with laughter and pressed a hand to her forehead.

"My kingdom for a moment of privacy," she teased and even Thorin had to smile. As though wordlessly communicating, they fell in step with one another and walked the path from the hall toward the stables.

"Where you're from," Thorin began when they were some distance from the house; he paused to clear his throat, "how did your former husband court you?"

"Briefly."

"I mean," he said and they paused near the fence to the corral, "what traditions do your people hold?" Lyra took him in for a moment. His hands were clasped behind his back and he was avoiding eye contact.

Feeling it necessary to put him out of his nervous misery, she finally replied, "we're a casual people: flowers, chocolates, coffee dates and eventually a ring. Some people date…er..court for years, some for months. It really depends on the couple."

"I see." He really didn't, but felt it necessary to say something.

"Well what about dwarves?"

"Only the youths court formally," he stated plucking a long stem of grass and picking at it. "Dwarrowmen at a certain age become the Kavonnin, Stone Hearts: those who haven't been chosen by a mate. When they do court the women hold the power…"

"I like the sound of that," Lyra said throwing him a smirk and he chuckled. Maybe that's what Balin mean when he said Thorin had cause to have a heart of stone. Thorin was still picking at the blade of grass and she gently brushed the back of his hand with her knuckles.

"If there's a woman you want to pursue a man can present her with a token from his household, something he's crafted. Or she can request one, if she's brazen. Like you," he teased and stroked her fingers with his. He was relieved she wasn't withdrawing either from his touch or the direction of his words.

"Hmm, so if a brazen, headstrong, impossible woman…like me, wanted to court a stubborn… resilient… jerk like you, I just have to ask for…what? A present?"

 _Durin's beard…_ he liked the way she flirted with him.

"Aye," he said trailing a finger along her arm, "but you already have." Lyra furrowed her brow. When had she asked for something from him? "You don't recall?" he asked in a teasing way, "The great symbol of my house, the line of Durin, and traditional offering that my father and grandfather and so on passed to their wives in courtship...was a sword."

"A sword?"

"Yes, a sword." Realization slowly dawned on her and she balked which only made Thorin grin wider.

"So, you're saying in Bree when I commissioned a sword…"

"And refused to pay me for it," he added.

"I was asking you…"

"To court you. Or at least to consider you," he finished and Lyra burst into laughter. "I was flattered to have a beautiful stranger walk out of the rain and ask such a bold thing."

"That's hardly what I meant," she defended, "you were a blacksmith, I was simply ordering a weapon!"

"Asking for the trade of an item, the symbol of my household, clearly knowing who I was and offering no compensation…aye, I could tell you were after _something_."

"Shut up," she said in vexation and she shoved his uninjured shoulder for good measure. "If I recall you _made_ the sword, so was that you saying 'yes'?"

"I'd never offer such a crude and hastily made sword as a token to a woman I cared for," he said leaning against the fence and facing her. "I'd take care in the weapon. Forging it with my own hands over days with the attention and adoration I would devote to her; sharpening it to a fine edge so she would be able to defend herself in battle, ornamenting the hilt with rubies so she would always know her worth, and presenting it with no pretense…just opportunity."

"But that sounds like…" Lyra stopped when she saw the look on his face. The pieces fell into place. "Thorin…" she said slowly, "when you reforged my sword in Rivendell you weren't just apologizing, you were…"

" _Trying_ to make my intentions known," he declared chuckling at the look on her face. "To tell you I had grown to care for you. That while your friendship is important to me, I want to see if there's more for us."

"I didn't realize that's what…Wait a minute! That was weeks ago, why haven't you said anything since?"

"In the grotto, when you stopped me from kissing you, I thought that was your way of saying you weren't ready. I had to respect your answer," he clarified.

"I feel like an idiot…I didn't know any of this," she said shaking her head. "So here I've been leading you on all the while wondering if…" Balin and Dwalin's reprimand made so much sense now.

"If?" he asked stepping closer, her eyes lifting to his.

"If…it was as hard for you to breathe when we're together as it is for me." Her stomach was in knots as his heavy hand lifted to touch her hair.

"Aye," he said softly. "Harder still knowing you were within the reach of my arm, but not knowing what it was I'd already tried to ask…Feeling miles away from me."

"I'm here now," she said reaching up to stroke his face, "and If you're still asking…"

"I can't court you like a young man," he interrupted, "promising marriage, a home, a family to belong to…I can't offer anything except today and this path that very likely ends in death…"

"I'd like to keep the sword," she said cutting him off "…and the offer that comes with it. To whatever end."

"Whatever end?" he asked one final time.

" _Aye_ ," she teased with a smirk of her own. He kissed her then, with no restraint or unanswered question. They didn't need to be certain of any future to fully express what they were feeling in this moment.

There was a desperation in them as their bodies fit together, his hands tangling in her hair and pulling her face closer. Lyra clutched to his abdomen, the ferocity of his heart beat echoing in her own chest. He was firm and strong; even through his clothes she could feel his hard muscles under her hands.

Passionate and heated, their kiss was full of maturity. These weren't two young lovebirds discovering the opposite sex for the first time. This was a man and a woman who knew what they wanted from the other and what they had to offer. Thorin's strong hands held her tightly against him, her soft curves and lush places igniting a fire under his skin. Likewise, her hands and hips dug into him to feel every inch of the strength he possessed.

Thorin found that when he tipped her head back at a sharper angle and she opened her mouth for him, she moaned deliciously when their tongues met. Fueled by her zeal, he took her by the hips and pressed her hard into the fence, pinning her against him. Her back arched at the contact and like a cornered minx, she dug her claws into the back of his neck and her teeth took his lower lip.

"Lyra," he growled low in his throat after he'd broken the kiss, "you're going to drive me mad." He pressed his forehead to hers and his hands gripped her waist.

"Well when you kiss me like that…" she was smiling and biting her own lip, her supple chest rising and falling with each breath making it rub against him.

"It's the way you ought to be kissed," Thorin said confidently, his thumb trailing over her perfect mouth, "and if I have anything to say about it, it'll be the way you're kissed from now on."

"If you weren't a king already, you'd have my vote," Lyra joked and wrapped her arms around his neck. Thorin's eyes looked sad for a moment, his thoughts suddenly pulled away. "Hey," Lyra said drawing him back. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Doubt yourself," she elaborated.

"Do you never?" he asked.

"Doubt you?"

"Yes…"

"No. Not for a single moment." She held his eyes determinedly conveying the level of conviction she felt. Lyra could feel him relax into her with relief and she felt a pang of privilege realizing she was one of probably very few people alive who had ever seen this proud dwarf display any level of vulnerability. It gave her a heavy sense of responsibility to never betray his trust in her. "Thorin?"

"Yes, mein Anan?" _my song,_ he asked, all traces of his self-deprecating thoughts gone now.

"I'm going to kiss you again," she whispered and lifted herself onto her toes to claim his mouth with hers. He smiled against her and returned to his task.

…

The sun was gone behind the horizon now as they gathered around the hearth. Everyone's bellies were full and their wounds were tended to, but there was a level of anxiety they all felt as they waited for their host.

Lyra grabbed her guitar and sipped her wine before she once again soothed the company with a song.

Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes  
But it's the only thing that I know  
When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes  
It is the only thing makes us feel alive

We keep this love in a photograph  
We made these memories for ourselves  
Where our eyes are never closing  
Hearts are never broken  
And time's forever frozen still

So you can keep me  
Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans  
Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet  
You won't ever be alone, wait for me to come home

Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul  
And it's the only thing that I know, know  
I swear it will get easier  
Remember that with every piece of you  
Hm, and it's the only thing we take with us when we die

Hm, we keep this love in this photograph  
We made these memories for ourselves  
Where our eyes are never closing  
Hearts were never broken  
And time's forever frozen still

So you can keep me  
Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans  
Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet  
You won't ever be alone

And if you hurt me  
That's okay baby, only words bleed  
Inside these pages you just hold me  
And I won't ever let you go  
Wait for me to come home  
Wait for me to come home  
Wait for me to come home  
Wait for me to come home

Oh, you can fit me  
Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen  
Next to your heartbeat where I should be  
Keep it deep within your soul

And if you hurt me  
Well, that's okay baby, only words bleed  
Inside these pages you just hold me  
And I won't ever let you go

When I'm away, I will remember how you kissed me  
Under the lamppost back on Sixth street  
Hearing you whisper through the phone  
"Wait for me to come home"

The front door slammed open jolting all of them to their feet. Stomping footsteps rattled the floorboards and the walls trembled before a looming figure appeared in the doorway to the main hall. Covered in fur-like hair, piercing brown eyes and dark skin covering rippled muscles stood the nearly eight foot, completely naked man staring at them. A long moment of silence passed between them as Beorn looked from dwarf to dwarf to hobbit to wizard and finally resting on Lyra.

"Please," he said in a voice as rich and thick as honey and deeper than the echoes of thunder, "don't stop singing. It's been an age since I've heard a woman sing."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N Hi guys! Thank you for your wonderful messages, reviews and kind words. I am NOT going on hiatus, I was on vacation for the last ten days (my only vacation all year). Here is a chapter, I wasn't**

 **able to edit so I apologize. I was attempting to get this out ASAP. I will post another chapter either tomorrow or Saturday to say thank you for your patience!**

"Orcs are swarming the Carrock," Beorn began as he stood over their table where he served them ale. Thankfully he had the couth to dress himself. "These are not the mindless murderers, scavenging for a kill. They are warg riders from Guntabad, hunters."

"Yes," Gandalf replied to his insinuated suggestion. "These orcs have been hunting us since we left the Greenway. We had an unfortunate encounter with goblins in the mountains, but that hasn't deterred them."

"Of course not. The goblins and orcs are in league with one another," Beorn said as though it were incredibly obvious. "Dark forces are gathering in Dol Guldur…a Necromancer they say can raise the dead. He rallies orc, goblin, warg and all manners of filth. For what reason, I cannot say. Even Azog the defiler rides in his name."

"What do you know of Azog?" Thorin asked. He hadn't touched a bite of his dinner yet. Clearly his mind was preoccupied.

"I know he roams the wilds, searching, stalking, thirsting for the blood of the one they call Oakenshield." Beorn stopped pouring to stare at Thorin and the dwarf nodded slowly in confirmation. "Azog, the vilest of all orcs," Beorn continued. "He first appeared in these parts years ago. He hunted my people, killing for sport. Some he enslaved; torturing for his amusement."

"Are there others like you?" Bilbo asked. His chirping voice the perfect contradiction to Beorn's slow and rasping one.

"There were many of us. We roamed freely in the Carrock and the Misty Mountains. But no longer. Now there is only me and my son."

"Your son?" Lyra questioned and Beorn turned his eyes to her. He'd seemingly been avoiding looking at her since he'd arrived back home. Out of curtesy she'd played another song while he dressed, but after that he hadn't looked her way once.

"My boy," Beorn replied, "Grimbeorn."

"Where is he?"

"He still roams the mountains. He's at the age of maturity where he must learn to control the animal within him. It is good you are here when he is not," Beorn replied and poured her a glass.

"What about your wife?" Bilbo asked. Beorn paused before sitting on the bench next to Lyra. He placed both his hands on the table, the rattle of the metal cuffs he still bore clinking against the wood.

"Azog laughed as she was skinned alive by his son, Bolg, and fed her remains to his dogs," he said stoically. "So you see, I care nothing for dwarves and their greedy, grasping fingers. But orcs I hate more."

"Beorn," Lyra said softly, "we need to reach the Lonely Mountain before Durin's day, the last day of autumn. Can you help us?" She chanced reaching her small hand to rest on his. He looked down at where her hand rested; her entire hand only the size of his thumb.

"Such small hands," he observed and Thorin's jaw clenched as he watched the interaction. "You will not make it in time," Beorn said. "Not unless you go through Mirkwood."

"That was my thought," Gandalf admitted. "We make for the elven road."

"Therein lies your challenge. There is a sickness on that forest, it plays with the minds of all those who wander into its boarders. Thranduil has abandon his oath to protect the northern woods and has allowed vermin to infest his lands. But that makes no difference. You'll never make it to the trees. Not with Azog pursuing you."

"Not on foot," Lyra commented with the hint of suggestion in her voice. Beorn looked down at their hands again, his thumb brushing her palm. He seemed fascinated by the contrast; like he'd never seen anything like it before.

"My horses are smart and fast, they could get you there safely…if I was willing to help you, but I want something in return."

"What is it then, gold?" Thorin questioned with annoyance in his voice.

"You see, that's the problem with dwarves," Beorn snapped as he stood and pulled his hand away from Lyra to challenge Thorin, "you think that because all you care about is gold and jewels that must be the only important thing. There are finer treasures than what you can dig out of the ground."

"Like what?" Thorin asked standing to his feet to meet the challenge.

"A future," Lyra interrupted. Thorin didn't take his eyes off the giant, but Beorn turned to her, "for your son." His face softened.

"I made a promise to his mother…I will do all I can to keep it."

"Then I'll make a promise to you, Beorn. I will do all in my power to see that your lands and you and your son are protected," Lyra stated.

"I do not know what protection you can offer," Beorn said, "but the sincerity of your oath is enough. What do you need?"

…

They left just before dawn the next morning. Beorn had spared no effort to supply their journey with packs of food, bundles of tinder, flagons of water and wine and fully saddles horses. Their brief stay with Beorn had been tumultuous, but two nights sleep under a roof and full bellies gave them the second wind they needed for this last leg of the journey before they reached the mountain.

Gandalf and Beorn had stayed up late into night talking and Lyra had a suspicion she knew what it was about, but her thoughts were still focused on what she'd experienced. Finally having a quiet moment she'd put the Singing Bowl to work.

 _Lyra was standing on the central turret of Erebor looking on the ruins of Dale and the fields below known as the Desolation of Smaug. The bright moon shone over the lake, but it paled in comparison to the flames that burned on the horizon. Even from her distance she could see the burning city of Lake Town and the wind carried screams of the dying citizens._

 _The moon dimmed as the serpentine figure of Smaug the Terrible flew overhead. His deafening roar tore open the night. He circled overhead, the blazing fire making his gold encrusted belly shine. He opened his mouth to send a final blast of fire, when from the dark, a silver streak of light shot from the water and pierced the great beast. His wings faltered, his chest erupting and he careened to the ground below, splashing into the lake and disappearing into the murky water with a steam inducing hiss._

"How do you propose to keep Beorn and his son safe?" Thorin asked as he steered his horse next to hers. "Do you have some hidden army I don't know about?"

"No, but I have an idea," she countered.

"Mein Anan, plotting and scheming, are we?" he asked with a smirk and she huffed at him.

"Hardly, I have a _plan_ ," she retorted but couldn't help smiling at him as well. "I doubt you'll like it, but I'm going to negotiate with the woodland elves. After we reclaim Erebor, I'm going to stake my claim for one fifteenth of the treasure."

"Oh?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm going to claim the white gems of Lasgalen and in turn use them to negotiate with Thranduil. I'll exchange the jewels for his word to drive out the spiders and orcs from Mirkwood, the Carrock and Eagle's Eyrie."

"A fine plan," Thorin said curtly.

"But?"

"But you're relying on the uncertain."

"Like?" she asked knowing he was already angry.

"The first being that we _do_ reclaim Erebor."

"We will."

"The second, that the gems are still intact."

"They are."

"Thirdly," his voice had turned harsher, "you're going to trust the word of the elves. What guarantee do you have Thranduil will break his current reputation of deceit and fulfill his promise?"

"Good point…" she replied. "I won't give him the jewels until the lands are cleared."

"Fourthly, you presume that the white gems, if undamaged by Smaug, will be given to you as compensation."

"You would deny my claim?" she asked in surprise. "Thorin, I am the fifteenth member of the company, do I not deserve payment?"

"Do you really think I would give away _anything_ I thought would in turn be provided to my enemies? That's a boon I wouldn't grant to anyone, not even you mein Anan." His sharp tone didn't intimidate her. Lyra could tell there was more hurt in his voice than anger.

"Let's be clear, you aren't _giving_ me anything," Lyra argued, "I will have earned my claim which is mine to spend as I wish. More importantly, I'm surprised you would withhold _your_ promise, which I have in contract by the way, in order to seek revenge that won't do anything but cause more problems with the elves and make me into a liar. I swore to Landrovar and Beorn that I would try to protect their lands."

"You shouldn't have promised those things," he advised counterproductively.

"Wouldn't you do the same? Wouldn't you promise to restore peace and prosperity to those who aided you?"

"I would not trade anything for the word of an elf. I call that folly," Thorin goaded.

"I call it diplomacy, if you want to split hairs," Lyra responded. "I told you that you wouldn't like my idea, but I wasn't going to lie to you about it."

"Your honesty is the only part of your plan I agree with." Lyra glared at him and dug her heels hard into the horse to urge it on faster. She was annoyed when Thorin raced to catch up with her. "Where are you going?" he asked knowing he was better in the seat than she was.

"Away from you, I don't' like you right now," she called back to him. He chuckled, which annoyed her more and she hurried into a gallop toward the tree lines.

"Where is she racing off to?" Dwalin asked when he'd reached Thorin's side.

"Hopefully to better conclusions," Thorin muttered.

"I know that look brother, you've quarreled again," Dwalin observed.

Thorin felt it an understatement but replied, "You could predict the position of the sun by how many times we disagree in a day."

"Aye, that's good," Dwalin stated and Thorin's confusion was evident. "I'm no expert in love, Thorin, but I know that when you're training for battle, you don't spar with someone you know you can beat. You fight the best. Nothing sharpens a blade faster than clashing with another sharp blade. She challenges you. Makes you better."

"Aye, I think she takes great pride in challenging me."

"If we should survive this journey," Dwalin said turning his horse back to regroup with the others, "marry her."

…

By midday they'd reached the beginning of the elven road. They were quick to dismount and they set to work sorting the supplies into packs.

"Set loose the ponies," Gandalf called to all of them, "we'll honor our word and let them return to their master."

"Aren't you coming?" Kili asked when he noticed Gandalf hadn't dismounted.

"He can't," Lyra answered for him. "Gandalf has been called away by the White Counsel."

"A fine time to abandon us," Thorin noted.

"I'm not _abandoning_ anyone, Thorin," Gandalf said steering the horse to where he, Bilbo and Lyra stood. "I would not depart unless I absolutely needed to."

"What is it Gandalf? What is so urgent you have to go now?" Bilbo asked, his voice full of fear.

"It's what Beorn told you…about the High Fells, isn't it?" Lyra asked and Gandalf only nodded. "Please be careful, don't go into Dol Guldur without help. Promise me!"

"I will meet you at the overlook beyond the foothills of Erebor," Gandalf vowed, "keep each other safe. The streams in these woods are riddled with dark curses, do not touch them. Cross only at the stone bridge and for heaven's sake, don't leave the path. You'll never find it again if you do."

"Yes Gandalf," Bilbo agreed and the wizard looked down on him kindly.

"You've changed Bilbo Baggins. You seem much taller than when we left Shire, if I say so myself." Bilbo smiled and rocked back on his heels in pride, his hands in his pockets.

"Yes well, I think I've finally found my courage."

"Courage yes, I hope you _wear_ _it_ well," Gandalf said with a knowing look. Bilbo visibly paled. "Thorin, do not enter that mountain without me." With his final piece of advice, Gandalf turned and led the pack of horses back across the field they'd just crossed.

"Keep it out of sight," Lyra whispered to Bilbo who looked up at her with wide eyes. "You'll need that trinket in these woods, just don't let it consume you." A duality crossed his face. At first, he looked as though he were going to argue but that quickly faded and he only nodded.

Thorin had stepped just inside the line of trees and was staring at an immaculately carved statue of a beautiful elven woman that had faded and began to disintigrate. "Thranduil's wife," Thorin said when he felt Lyra stand next to him. There was a familiarity to the statue that Lyra couldn't place, mainly because the dwarf next to her was so distracting. "Her beauty is nothing compared to yours."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, I'm still angry with you," Lyra said flatly. Thorin did his best to look chastised but he was smirking. "We're going to run into spiders in these woods," she said drawing his attention to more serious matters. "If we're not careful someone could get hurt. We need to move quickly along the path and stop only when we absolutely must. When we make camp for the night, everyone needs to take turns climbing to the tree tops for a breath of fresh air. It's the only way to clear our minds of the spells that are thick in these woods."

"Anything else?" he asked amused at how easily it was for her to give orders. Lyra was clearly annoyed at the way he pretended not to take her seriously. Not because she didn't like it, but because it was endlessly charming. Glancing behind her to make sure no one was watching, she grabbed a handful of his shirt to pull him into a kiss. Before he could react, she had pushed him away. "Does this mean you forgive me now?" he called.

"No!"

Thorin smiled as he watched her return to the others and the packs, helping to secure Bilbo's for him before she picked up her own bag and instrument. _By the blood of Durin, I pray, let me live long enough to marry that woman_.

…

It would be a week's journey at least, probably closer to two. They didn't have much time to waste as they were well past August and it would likely be September before they reached the other side of Mirkwood which left them only a few weeks to reach Lake Town, Dale and search for the hidden door.

They were barely a mile into the woods when the trees surrounding them changed. The limbs of the gray branches overhead entwined and wrapped together as though trying to create a barrier over the stone road. It wasn't uncommon that in the middle of the pathway they'd have to climb over boughs or duck under low hanging branches.

The air was thick and painfully still. Their every movement echoed off the tree trunks and there was a constant rustling of their feet on leaves. Lyra could hear her own heart beat in her ears. What made matters worse, with the trees being so thick, it was nearly impossible to tell time. When sparse sunlight did penetrate the canopy, the leaves were such a waxy colored gray, it refracted the light like a mirror causing it to bounce several times before reaching the forest floor. There was virtually no way to tell the sun's position. It was maddening not being able to discern time or direction.

"There's the bridge!" Oin called their fourth night in the woods. The company gathered around the start of the bridge only to peer across and see the center of it had crumbled away. In truth, it looked more destroyed than the effects of decay.

"Kili, Fili," Thorin called and his two nephews were quick to his side. "Climb and see where the sun stands then try to find a way to cross. Bombur, Bofur, fill the canteens, Gloin, Oin get a fire going, everyone else drop your packs and get some air."

The command wasn't lost on them. Thorin had taken Lyra at her word and as they stopped every six hours to eat, rest and drink, they all took turns climbing to freshen their minds. It was tedious and felt as though it wasted time, but each of them had to admit, even five minutes out of the woods every few hours was a welcome postponement.

"We're running low on the kegs of water Beorn sent us with," Bofur said to Thorin. "Should we refill?"

"No!" Lyra called from the far point of what remained of the bridge. "Gandalf warned us about the water. We shouldn't drink anything. It'll curse us with sleep."

"Fill half the canteens with water, the rest with the wine stores. From now on we only stop twice a day!" Thorin called. There was a collection of suppressed groans as the unoccupied dwarves began climbing."

"I don't know if that'll be enough to stem the spell," Lyra said quietly from next to him. They both handed their canteens over to Bombur.

"It'll have to," Thorin replied. "We can't refill our stores, we're on our third night with no luck hunting or trapping. We'll ration; that should buy us another five days of food and six of water if we mix it with wine."

"Personally, I think mixing wine with everything is a fantastic idea," Lyra praised as she rested on the railing of the bridge.

"You're not going to recommend seeking help from the elves?" he asked in a slightly taunting tone of voice.

"I learned my lesson with Elrond in Rivendell, besides Thranduil won't help. He'll lock us in his dungeons if he's given the chance."

"Yet you want to negotiate for his help in clearing the northern lands?" he asked and she narrowed her eyebrows. They'd done their best to avoid the subject they'd discussed their first night in Mirkwood knowing they were at an impasse, but it seemed the time had come to finish the conversation.

"Thranduil is selfish, he won't help unless we have something he wants," she retorted and Bombur returned with their filled flasks. Clearly, he knew her well as hers was filled with the dark honey wine from Beorn's. "I'm trying to do what's right for everyone."

"Aye," he said and smiled fondly at her, "you have a kind heart, offering your share of the Hall to secure the safety of those who've aided us. Your generosity puts me to shame."

"Have I ever told you how attractive you are when you're humble?" she teased. His right eyebrow raised and she chuckled before taking a long drink of wine in a mock toast. "You're not really going to try to stop me from helping the eagles and Beorn?"

"I've no intention of trying to stop you from anything…except bargaining with the elves," he replied taking a drink from her flask. "This isn't pride speaking, but experience. The elves think themselves wise because they live longer, but in truth, they delay action for the sake of outliving consequences. Dwarves and men don't have that luxury. We dwarves have shorter lives, humans considerably shorter, sometimes we must hasten our decisions for the sake of accomplishing something within the time we have left. An elf can swear an oath and not see it fulfilled for a hundred generations."

"So even if Thranduil accepted my terms, he could wait until I'm dead and buried before doing anything?"

"Which is the likely outcome," Thorin declared. Lyra let out a long and slow breath feeling a level of defeat. Negotiating with Thranduil had been her only strategy. Taking the wineskin back from Thorin, she drained it.

"I thought the idea was to keep our senses about us?" Thorin chided stepping in front of her. Savoring the momentary distraction of the others, he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

"And _that's_ helping?" she asked with a small smile. His lips had the tendency to leave lingering sensations wherever they touched.

"Mein Anan," Thorin said pulling her eyes back to his. "You've made valiant promises as compensation for the help _my_ company has received. What kind of honor would I be worth if I didn't offer recompense? This I swear to you, when my kingdom is restored, should you ask it, I will dispatch the dwarven army of Durin in any direction you say for any purpose you desire."

"I don't know what your intention is, Thorin Oakenshield, but I've never cared for you more than I ever have in this moment," she said sincerely with beaming eyes. Lifting herself onto her toes she kissed him briefly.

Taking her hips in his hands, he lowered his mouth to her ear, his voice to barely above a murmur, "my _intention_ is to kiss you until you've lost all sense of everything except my touch."

"Right, I don't think I was supposed to hear that…" Both Lyra and Thorin turned their heads to see Bilbo standing two paces away starring at them. Lyra snickered and Thorin looked ready to strike him.

"What is it Bilbo?" she asked stepping away from Thorin.

"It's just that, these vines," he said gesturing to the dense plants that draped around them, "I think I can see a way across."

"Lead on," Thorin urged.

"Be careful," Lyra said patting him on the shoulder. Over the last few days she'd kept a close eye on the hobbit knowing that he now possessed the ring. Her thoughts had often drifted to the dark item. Could Sauron's return be prevented? Lyra wasn't so foolish to think she could march the ring to Mount Doom herself, but what about after the quest? Could she convince Bilbo to take it? Or even better, to hand it over to her and she could form a fellowship and see it done. Surely thousands of deaths could be prevented if only the _right_ person had the ring.

"There I've found it! I've found a way across!" Lyra was snapped out of her thoughts as she saw Bilbo successfully planted on the other side of the bank. "There's an overturned tree, we could use it to bridge the gap!"

"We should cross, we can camp on the far side tonight," Thorin said to her and she nodded her agreement. "Gloin, Dwalin," he called and the three followed closely behind Lyra as she maneuvered through the vines. Underneath the swampy water was bubbling and small vapors were rising. There wasn't a strong odor, but the faint waft of wet grass was making her head fuzzy.

"Lyra!" Bilbo called and grabbed her hand to pull her ashore. She felt dizzy as her feet met soli ground. "Lyra, Lyra look at me," Bilbo instructed and her eyes met his soft brown ones. "Cornbread. Lyra, cornbread…"

"Dumpling."

"Goat cheese."

"Eggs."

"Sausage."

"English muffin…"

"It all has the making of a fine breakfast," Bilbo said and they both sniggered. Their first day Lyra had approached Bilbo knowing, of the entire company, they were the two that needed to keep their senses the most. It was a game she and her father had played on long car rides when they were forced to move to a new military base. One person started the game, picking a food, animal, or object like 'cornbread' and the next person had to think of a related item that began with the last letter of the previous word.

"I think I need to go for a climb," she said knowing that her mind wasn't fully clear. Thorin was at her side in a moment and he'd overheard.

"Take the hobbit, we'll get the log across. Take care and watch your footing," he advised. She smiled at him before beginning her ascent with Bilbo right behind her.

"Are we almost free of the woods?" Bilbo asked when they were just over halfway up. "It's not that I'm not fond of climbing trees it's just that…"

"You'd prefer not to do it four times a day?" she asked with laughter in her voice. Lyra paused as she reached for a branch above her head when she noticed it was covered in thick, milk-colored strands. "Webs…" her stomach sank and her heart began pounding. "Bilbo, the spiders are close." She hadn't been shy in informing the company of the impending predators. It was information that reinforced the importance of getting fresh air, staying on guard, and moving quickly.

"We'll be alright," Bilbo tried to say reassuringly. "If we stay on the path we can avoid them, right?" he asked just as they both broke free of the trees. The air above the tree line was instantly refreshing, like a cold glass of water on a hot say. Lyra took several deep breaths feeling her mind clear, her heartrate return to normal, and her fear subside.

"We'll be alright," she agreed. "Where I'm from we used to have something called camel spiders that lived where it was very hot and sandy. I woke up one morning and there was one crawling out of my boot. Damn near scared me to death."

"Is that why you always look in your shoes before you put them on?" he asked sitting on the limb next to her.

"I suppose it probably is," she laughed at the realization. "It really is beautiful," Lyra stated as they observed the mountain in the distance. To her joy they were much closer than she had previously suspected. Another day or two and they'd be free of the woods, past the spiders and the elves, and well into Lake Town with no delay.

"Will you stay there long, when this is all over?" Bilbo asked. His brown eyes were kind and full of curiosity as he looked her direction.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. Her thoughts had frequently turned to the end of the quest especially now that they were nearing the cusp. It was a frightening thought, the things to come, but she knew sooner or later the unknown would have to become known. "In truth, I'm more afraid of what I'll do after the quest than the dragon…"

"How do you mean?"

"I'm not just from lands beyond the sea, Bilbo. I'm from a different world entirely. Like…when you look into the sky and see the stars. I'm from that far away. Farther, probably."

"Is-is that a bad thing?" he asked full of confusion.

"No, but…" she sighed heavily, "I didn't ask to come here. The Blue Wizards sent me and I'm afraid…when everything is over…I'll have to go back home." Bilbo couldn't have looked more bewildered in the dying light of the day if he'd tried.

"You-you don't _want_ to go home?"

"I know it sounds strange…this entire journey is about home, isn't it? Reclaiming a stolen home for the dwarves, getting you back home safely…but the last thing I want is to go back. I wasn't…I hated my life there. My former husband was on a mission to make my life a living hell, no family and no purpose. Don't get me wrong, I miss Starbucks but…It's not like here. I mean, I still don't have family, but I have a reason for existing. There's…magic here. I'd stay forever if I could."

"Well then it's settled," Bilbo said matter-of-factly and now it was Lyra's turn to look confused. "You'll stay. No matter what it takes. Keeping you around has to be easier than facing a dragon. And if Erebor won't host you, you're always welcome at Bag End. I've got lots of room to spare and we can always share that pint at The Green Dragon."

Lyra's smile stretched from ear to ear, "Bilbo I don't know what I'd do without you," she said sincerely and leaned over to kiss him on the top of his head. "You're probably the best friend I've ever had."

"Then as your friend," he said as they slowly and reluctantly began climbing back down, "I need to inform you that you are quite wrong." She looked back up at him in question. "You have family here. Fourteen relatives, to be exact. And all equally as fond of you as any kin they've ever known." Lyra had to return her eyes to the limbs she was sliding down in order to keep from falling, but also to hide the tears his kind words had brought to her eyes. "You'll have to tell me what a 'starbuck is' though…"

"Shh…" she said stopping several feet above the ground. They both held perfectly still. The forest of Mirkwood was always quiet without a breath of wind, but one thing was always the same: they could hear the dwarves. Except for now. "Wait here," she instructed firmly.

As quietly as she could she slid down the remainder of the tree. The sight that met her below was startling. All of the dwarves were laying sprawled on the ground in various locations around the campfire they'd started after crossing the makeshift bridge. It looked as though they had all dropped mid set up because the pot of water was still boiling.

"Thorin!" she raced over to where he was slumped against a tree. She checked for a pulse and found a steady one beating. "Thorin, wake up," she called shaking his shoulders, but he didn't stir. At his side still clutched in one had was an apple from the saddle bags with several bites taken out of it.

There was a groan from behind her and she crawled over to Bombur who was stirring on his back, "Lyra?"

"Bombur what happened? Did you use the river water for the soup?" she asked referring to the boiling pot. His amber eyes were rolling back in his head so she gave his cheek a crisp slap.

"No…" he creaked, "not soup. Apples…dirty." His head rolled to the side and he began snoring.

"What?" she asked trying to shake him, but it was useless. Sitting hard on the ground she looked over her shoulder and saw several pieces of fruit scattered around. Holding up the nearly devoured apple core next to Bombur she sighed in realization and frustration. "Bombur, you big oaf! You washed the fruit in the creek!" Tossing the core into the stream and rubbing her hands on her pants to ensure no water was on them, she stood when she heard Bilbo coming down the tree behind her. "We have a problem," she said turning around.

It took a moment for her eyes to relay the message to her brain that what she was seeing was actually there. Instead of her loveable hobbit friend, what was prowling toward her were a nearly ten feet, eight legged, multi-eyed, venom dripping, hissing spider. Before she could even reach for her sword, a shrill scream erupted from her, the noise heightened by the completely silent woods around her.

Her sword sang as she withdrew it and the spider launched itself at her. On pure instinct, she extended the blade and swung the blade connecting with a front leg. A back leg kicked her in the torso and she fell backwards. The spider turned on her and she struggled to her feet, but she was kicked again and tripped over Bombur's sleeping form. Scrambling away, she felt herself pulled backward. Rolling to face the monster, she stabbed upward, her blade connecting to its abdomen. It shrieked in pain and gnashed at her, it's dagger-like fangs sinking into her left arm.

The pain was like white hot fire. She managed to push the dying spider off of her and stagger to her feet. The puncture was deep and dripping blood and white, poisonous saliva. Her entire body was burning. Her vision swam. Her sword dropped from her hand and she collapsed.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N Pleeeaaase don't hate me! I had this chapter on my work computer and the power has been out for two days because of storms. It's late, but here it is! Guys…please review, the next few chapters are my favorites and I can't wait for you to read them!**

From his position perched behind the limb of a tree, Bilbo, with the aided concealment of the ring, was able to track the spiders to their nest where they had dragged the bodies of the dwarves. He had watched as Lyra was attacked and bitten by the first spider. When she collapsed he had run to her, only to find, like the others, she wouldn't wake. Before he could do anything else, the sound of whispers and chittering echoed off the trees, the other vermin aroused by the sounds of battle and smell of blood.

Feeling he had no other option, he slid the ring onto his finger, and watched powerlessly as a host of spiders wrapped the bodies of his sleeping comrades and began dragging them off. They moved quickly, eager for a fresh meal. Bilbo's stomach was churning and cold sweat poured from his brow, but he followed as fast as his short legs allowed him.

"Their hide is tough, but there's juice inside!" one of the spiders hissed as it mounted a cocooned dwarf onto the web that drenched the trees like white paint.

"We should eat them now, while they're still fresh!" The sacks containing the bodies of the company began shifting and moving as the dwarves started to waken. "Feast, feast!" Bilbo was reminded of how helpless he'd felt when they'd been captured by the trolls and when the goblins had them cornered in the caves. But this time there was no sunlight, or Gandalf, or Lyra or fire to save them. Only a hobbit.

"Light…" Bilbo muttered and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. "Light!" Though the sword only shone blue for orcs and goblins, there was no denying the elven craft held a light all its own. Drawing the blade, he took a deep, steading breath and charged the nearest spider.

"Ahh!It burns! It stings!" cried the arachnid who'd taken the blow to its backside. Now on alert, the six other spiders began scrambling and mounting limbs in search of the light wielding foe.

"Stings, it stings us!"

Bilbo's feet stuck precariously to the webs that triggered vibrations in the entrapping strands, but his small stature gave him the stealth he needed to duck under legs, fangs, and butts to hack and slash his way to his friends. The first unsuspecting spider had gone down easily, the second required more movement, but the chaos and screams of the hissing tarantulas worked to his benefit.

"What is it?" cried another and Bilbo was able to slice through the tethers holding three of his friends in place.

"Here I am!" he called sliding the ring free and drawing the attention of the monsters. Their beady black eyes widened and Bilbo jumped from his branch onto the back of the spider beneath him, the blade piercing its exoskeleton. The other venomous fiends fled in search of reinforcements giving Bilbo a chance to free the others.

The sticky entrapments slowed the descent of the rousing dwarves, their minimal exposure to the cursed water fading as the day neared its end, but panic was still heavy in the air as Bilbo cut them free.

"Where are they, I'll give those eight-legged freaks something to bite!" Dwalin bellowed as he tore from his cocoon.

"They've run off, but they'll be back, arm yourselves," Thorin ordered as he pulled strands of web from his beard.

"Thorin we have a problem," Bilbo said hoping to regain his breath.

"Your bravery does you credit Master Baggins, you and your stinging sword," Thorin complimented with sincerity. "Where is Lyra?"

"That's the problem I was trying to tell you about," Bilbo spoke up, "when we came down from the trees, she was attacked and bitten. The poison it-it did something."

"Where is she!" he roared and Bilbo felt more frightened of the dwarf than the spiders.

"I-I-I only had time to hide her, b-back by the bridge."

"Thorin, they're coming back!" Fili called and the sounds of skittering shook the trees around them.

"Take me to her," Thorin commanded returning his eyes to Bilbo. The hobbit didn't need to be told twice. They raced back the direction they'd been dragged and against all odds were able to rediscover the road and despite some distance, they made it back to the bridge in all haste.

"This way," Bilbo said ducking down toward the embankment, and under the ruins of the eastern part of the bridge.

"Mahal," Thorin breathed feeling his dread escalate as he saw the heaped body of the woman he cherished. They pulled her back up into the clearing where their packs still were and they all gathered around with wide and solemn eyes.

The bite on her arm looked to be from a single fang, but the wound was definitely full of venom as it had failed to close and thick clots of blood still oozed from it. The tips of her fingers were already becoming discolored and her body was cold and rigid.

"Can we clean it?" Kili asked

"It's no good, the poison has spread. She's barely breathing," Balin said as he inspected her, "we need to get her to a healer and fast or…" he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Thorin didn't think twice before drawing his sword and heading back toward the direction the spiders were. "Where are you going?"

"To make noise."

…

" _Mom are you ok?" Lyra was standing with her back to the commander who stood staring from next to the radio controls. She'd be roused early in the night, having only been asleep for an hour after twenty-four hours on patrol, she had deliriously stumbled to the communications tent._

" _Lyric, my beautiful song…" her mom's voice sound far away and the static on the line was disrupting even further. "I have to tell you…so many things you don't know…but I can't go back now…"_

" _Mom, you're cutting out, can you wait until morning?" Lyra was trying not to sound annoyed but it was difficult._

" _I have loved you and your father, I never could have known this was how things would be. Never forget how much I love you."_

" _I love you too mom, where's dad?" Lyra had to ignore the snickers from the men behind her._

" _Do you remember the song I used to sing to you when you were little and we lived at that farm house? About the willow?"_

" _Yeah mom I think I remember."_

" _Let me sing it, let me sing it for you…"_

" _Mom really I only have two minutes, can you put dad on?"_

"Down by the water, under the willow, sits a lone ranger minding the willow… _" Lyra covered the receiving end of the phone as the men behind her began laughing loudly. Her face burned with embarrassment and she ducked her chin to her chest to avoid their eyes._

 _Like a good daughter she pretended to listen to the old lullaby and as soon as it was over she hung up after saying she loved her mother one more time._

 _One last time._

…

The nest was still burning; the bodies of the spiders littered the forest floor, their screeches echoing off the haunted trees. In the center of the clearing the dwarves stood panting and sweating, their faces red from exertion and heat. Burning webs fell around them like spits of fiery rain.

They'd raised almighty hell fighting off the spiders who'd poured on them in droves. Knowing Thorin's plan, the small army of dwarves and a hobbit fought with a ferocity unmatched. Now in the din of the massacre they waited.

"Thorin," Dwalin said gripping his axe tighter when he saw the platoon of elves racing toward them. Thorin took the lead position as they were quickly surrounded by fifteen of the green clad warriors. Their weapons drawn, arrows aimed, Thorin stood unwavering as a golden-haired elf emerged from the sea of red.

"Do you mean to burn down the entire forest, dwarf?" the elf asked monotonously as his blue eyes examined the wreckage.

"While it would be my honor, that's not my purpose," Thorin replied. "I am Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror and I seek audience with Thranduil."

" _King_ Thranduil?" the elf asked. "What business do you have with my father?" Thorin surveyed him for a moment knowing that Thranduil only had one child, the prince they called Legolas who was said to be much fairer minded than his father.

"I must see him urgently…"

"You've been in this wood for days, why do you seek him now?" Legolas interrupted. "Don't look so surprised, dwarf, very little takes place in my father's realm that he does not know of."

"You'd think he'd have done something about these spiders then," Dwalin muttered but the implied insult wasn't lost on the elven prince.

"We've done your father a favor ridding his lands of these creatures and now I am asking for one in return," Thorin stated but the words tasted foul as they left his lips.

"What favor could a dwarf ask? We have no holes for you to climb down." Thorin desperately wanted to punch his pretty face, but the tugging of his heart only led him to gesture behind him. Legolas let his eyes depart from the black-haired would-be king for a moment to look at the desperate band of rebels behind him who had formed a perimeter around a single fallen body.

The dark-haired woman laid wrapped in a blood-soaked blanket, her face pale and lips nearly blue. Her head was cradled in the lap of a halfling whose eyes were red either from exhaustion or tears. "Who is she?" one of the female elves asked as she knelt and opened the blanket. The stench of the infected bite was potent.

"Her name is Lyra," Bilbo said meeting her eyes. "Please, can you save her?" the woman's face went from stone cold to soft and sympathetic in a flash. There was no denying the love this hobbit had for his friend.

"We don't have the medicine to treat her," Thorin said turning back to Legolas. "If we did we wouldn't have bothered seeking you out."

"If you had any affection for this woman, you wouldn't have ventured into the Woodland Realm," Legolas said almost tauntingly. Thorin's hands balled into fists with restrained rage.

"Please." Was all he said and Legolas' stoic expression briefly glinted at surprise. Wordlessly the blond elf looked to the kneeling woman who clearly held authority amongst them and nodded.

"Come with us," the elven woman said and effortlessly lifted Lyra's body. Two other elves were quick to aid in the transport.

"You'll surrender your weapons at the gate," Legolas instructed as he sheathed his own sword and led the way past the burning wreckage. "Make no mistake, you are not welcome in these lands and we won't hesitate to kill you."

"The feeling is mutual," Thorin retorted and Legolas cast a sideways glare.

…

" _Daddy,"_ _Lyra breathed as she saw the towering figure of her father waiting at the bottom of the escalator in the airport. She dropped her camouflage-printed backpack, the same one that would take her on a long quest one day, and ran to him. They met in a tight embrace, both of them shaking with sobs._

" _Darling girl," Richard said stroking her hair and pulling back to cup her face. His once vibrant green eyes were red and hooded under wrinkled skin. "I've missed you."_

" _I'm so sorry I wasn't here, I'm so sorry. Daddy I'm so sorry…Mom…."_

" _Hush, hush now," he said pulling her back into his arms. "Your mother loved you more than you will ever know. She got to speak to you one last time, that was her greatest desire."_

" _I should have been here, I should have been home."_

" _No, you are my daughter and I raised you to never abandon your post. You were where you needed to be. Death comes to all of us. It was your mother's time. Now it's up to us to bury her and carry on the song she spent her life singing." Lyra sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Can you do that Lyric?" he asked in a strange voice._

" _Do what?"_

" _Can you carry on her song? This world needs music. It's forgotten its song…can you sing it?"_

….

"I fail to see how _any_ of this is our concern." Thorin was standing just inside the main hall of King Thranduil's forested palace. He'd been brought along with Lyra and presented to the white-haired coward who wore a crown of berries on his head. The others had been stripped of their weapons and taken to the dungeons amidst cries and protests.

"I'm asking you as the king of these woods to take some ownership," Thorin said strongly. "You've allowed the last safe road through the forest to become infested with black spiders, because of this, one of my company has been attacked. Now you refuse to give aid?"

"I care nothing of what happens beyond my halls, let the rest of the world fall as it may," Thranduil replied as he sat still perched on his throne, his long legs crossed at the knee.

"Father," Legolas said from behind Thorin, "the dwarves did clear the spiders nest." Thranduil looked annoyed that his son had spoken with even a hint of dissension. From the ground next to Thorin, Lyra began coughing and convulsing.

"Lyra!" Thorin dropped to his knees and cradled her head in his lap. She was burning with fever and her breathing was in short gasps. "Have you no compassion!" Thorin raged. "We came to you once, starving and homeless, seeking shelter and you abandon my people to dragon fire. Yet here I stand having recovered your realm of vermin and still you deny any service! Have you no honor at all?" His voice thundered in the halls.

Thranduil paused for a moment; he could see the looks his guards were exchanging. The years of isolation had begun to spring seeds of doubt in his people that he was a fair ruler. His thoughts had always centered around the core of his kingdom and as sinister creatures descended on the woods he swore to protect, the reach of his kingdom had slowly begun to decay and dissolve until his boarders were so tightly woven, the silvan and woodland elves were barely seen outside its gates.

Now as he stood from his throne and stepped toward the two figures lying in the middle of his hall, he felt a coil unwrap from his chest. There was something so oddly familiar about…

"Who is she?" Thranduil asked in a voice that sounded uncommonly desperate. Without waiting for an answer, he yanked the blanket off of her to expose her face and form. Clearly plagued with poison he couldn't mistake her resemblance to someone he'd known long ago but seen in his mind's eye a countless number of times since.

"She's a friend to Gandalf the Gray and two of your own kind, Elrond of Rivendell and Galadriel of Lothlorien," Thorin claimed hoping her connection would save her life. Thranduil met his eyes for a brief moment, his jaw going rigged.

"She is beyond our help," he said standing and turning his back. Thorin made to protest but he was cut off. "But I will do you this _one_ favor…" he alluded and Thorin nodded for him to continue. "She needs the healing of Rivendell…"

"She won't survive the journey!" Thorin yelled.

"I will ensure that she survives long enough to be treated by the finest of Rivendell," Thranduil claimed.

"And I'm supposed to trust you? With what guarantee?" Thorin argued.

"What choice do you have?" Thranduil countered. Thorin felt his heart race in his chest as he looked down at Lyra. The venom was spreading quickly and while he knew she was strong, she couldn't survive more than a few days if left unaided. But to send her to Rivendell? Even if she did survive the journey, she'd never be able to return to Erebor before Durin's day to finish their quest. It had long been in his mind they would ascend the highest turret in his kingdom together. Would he ever see her again? If she died…

"If she dies," Thorin said glowering darkly at the flaxen pixie, "no tree, spell, or army will stop me tearing your head from your body." Thranduil looked momentarily startled by the threat only to have it replaced with realization.

"You love her," he said and his mouth turned upward in a cruel smile, "how charming. Does she return the sentiment?"

"Answering your questions wasn't part of the arrangement. Take her to Rivendell. At once," Thorin relented. Feeling rather put out, Thranduil retreated to his throne and waved a dismissive hand. Two guards raced forward and picked her up. "Wait," Thorin called and stood before her, his hand resting on her face. "I will find you, mein Anan, no matter what," he whispered and kissed her forehead caring very little that his every move was being observed. With every ounce of strength in him he stepped away from her and watched as she was carried from the hall.

"You think I don't know why you've wandered into my realm," Thranduil said pulling his attention back. "Some might call it a noble quest to reclaim a lost homeland, but even if you have found a way into the mountain, you'll never defeat the dragon that lies in wait."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion on the matter," Thorin said feeling suddenly cold and fatigued with the loss of his Song.

"Since we're already negotiating, I have an offer to propose," Thranduil suggested. "You seek the Arkenstone which will grant you the right to rule. Yet there are other stones, more precious, that I desire for my halls."

"I know of what you speak."

"The white gems were once entrusted to your forefathers in commission of a necklace of great value. I would see that returned to me."

"As I recall, that ornament, Nauglamir, was a gift from the descendants of Thingol to the dwarves of Nogrod after they were ambushed in their own homes."

"Funny thing," Thranduil snapped, "how two races in such close proximity can have such very different versions of history."

"It is quite amusing how one can be so wrong," Thorin countered. "Make your offer, Thranduil, I tire of this conversation."

"My offer is this, dwarf," he snarled, his usual melodramatic drawl now full of anger, " I will send the armies of the Woodland Realm to aid you in the recovery of your mountain and in gratitude, you will restore to me the necklace I desire."

"The entire army?" Thorin asked and Thranduil nodded. "Seems an awful burden to march so far for a necklace."

"A burden I am willing to bear," Thranduil replied with a falsely humble bow of his chin. "I have faced the fire drakes of the north; I know what it requires to destroy such a foe. I warned your grandfather Thor of what his greed would bring, take my counsel now." Thorin couldn't stomach the patronizing tone any longer.

"I would not suffer your counsel should the end of all days be upon us!" The boom of his roar brought an even eerier silence over the dwindling hall. Thranduil stared silently menacingly.

"You're tired," he said after a long moment. "Perhaps a few days rest in the dungeons will change your mind."

Thorin didn't bother to argue as he was dragged from the hall. On the contrary, he was endlessly pleased to see anything other than the highly pointed nose of the crooked king. He was tossed unceremoniously into a cell next to Balin.

"Where's Lyra, is she alright?" Though Balin was asking, the faces of the others were pressed against the bars eagerly waiting an answer.

"He's agreed to send her to Rivendell. She stands a better chance than we do now," Thorin replied as he sank against the wall in the corner of the cell.

"That's all we could hope for then, that she's on her way to safety. What of Bilbo?"

"What do you mean?" Thorin asked looking up from his hands. "Is he not among you?"

"We thought he was in the throne room with you and Lyra," Kili replied. Thorin felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth despite the ache he felt in his chest.

"It seems our burglar has slipped the guards. Now we wait, if anyone has proven to the task of rescue, it is Master Baggins.

…

" _Dear One, you've slept long enough."_

Lyra woke suddenly when she heard the voice of Galadriel. The room she was in was dark and a single candle was lit on the table next to her. Sitting up she expected to feel pain in her head which had been the case every night for the last two weeks. However, she felt astonishingly refreshed.

Her left forearm was bandaged where the spider had bit her. Thoughts came racing back of Mirkwood, the broken bridge, her finding the dwarves asleep, the spiders…

" _Dear One…"_

Lyra knew she heard the voice of Galadriel that time. To her right under the candle sat the Singing Bowl filled with water and humming though it wasn't being played.

"Galadriel?" Lyra asked as she swung her legs out of bed, the thin nightdress she wore hanging around her ankles.

" _Your task is almost complete. Do not stray your journey. It is time for you to learn all of who you are."_

"I don't understand," Lyra replied feeling it necessary to whisper into the pulsing water. "You said the Ainur called me here to help restore the song of Iluvatar."

" _That is your quest. Now you must learn_ who _you are, not what you must do. Do not be afraid, Dear One. No matter where you are, you are under the protection of the Lady of the Wood_. _"_

Before Lyra could think to ask another question, the door to the room opened and the darkness was suddenly illuminated in a golden glow.

"I thought I heard you speaking."

"Elbereth?" Lyra asked in shock. Looking around in shock, she didn't recognize the room she was in. Her mind had been filled with such vivid hallucinations from the venom; she had nearly assumed her surroundings were another vision. However this room was very real and didn't look anything like the healing rooms of Rivendell.

"For your sake, do not make it known that we have met," Elbereth said sitting on the edge of her bed and placing a soothing hand on her head. "I was sent weeks ago by the vision of Elrond that you would befall injury in Mirkwood. Thranduil is not inclined to cooperate unless he's provided some incentive."

"And they say dwarves are greedy," Lyra said taking the glass of water she was handed and drinking it. "What did you offer him to agree to aid us?"

"I came pretending to bear word of a plot by the dwarves to reclaim Erebor," Elbereth answered and began examining the bandage on her arm.

"So we were captured on the road," Lyra deduced and Elbereth paused. Her brown eyes looked up at Lyra with a glimmer. "What?"

"You were not captured," the elf stated, "nor were any of the dwarves in your company. Quite the contrary, from what I understand, the dwarves sought out the halls of the Woodland Realm."

"That's impossible; Thorin would never seek out the help of the elves, especially not Thranduil."

"Not even to save your life?" Elbereth asked and Lyra had to pause. The unspoken question between them resulted in Elbereth nodding softly.

"He…brought me here?" to say she was shocked was putting it mildly.

"Using the spiders as kindling, he nearly burnt down an acre of forest in search of the halls." Lyra sat back in the bed, images of Thorin flooding her mind; she had to smile at the thought of him tearing limbs from trees, his blue eyes ablaze. _God I love him_ … _wait what?_

"I…is he here?" she asked feebly. Elbereth's face hardened.

"The dwarves have been locked in the dungeons for three days now. I don't know what he expects of Thorin, but he means to have an audience with him again this before this evening."

"I know what he's after and Thorin won't agree to his terms. Is there any way to see them?" Lyra questioned.

"I fear not, the dwarves do not even know you're here. The King's order is to keep your presence a secret. They think you've been sent to Rivendell."

"Elbereth, I have to get to them. We have to get to the Lonely Mountain before Durin's Day."

"I was sent by the Lady Galadriel to help in any way that I can. Just be patient, all will work out…" The door suddenly slammed open again and a guard in full armor filled the doorway.

"King Thranduil demands to see the lady Lyric now that she's awake," the guard stated aggressively.

"News travels fast," Lyra said standing. Looking around the bed for her clothes, the guard stepped forward and took her by the arm and pulled her from the room, "Jesus Christ!" Lyra snapped and yanked her arm away, "I'm coming!" The guard didn't say anything but continued to urge her forward and through the halls.

The palace was carved into the hillside of the wood with smooth stone pathways and high archways. The halls weren't ornamented like the marble towers of Rivendell, but instead were carved from the dark wood of the trees that still grew freely around them. The knotted limbs weren't carved, but appeared to grow in decoration and wove around stone bridges and staircases as though they'd been cultivated over centuries.

There were no statues, paintings or carpets which only lent to the cold feeling that enveloped Lyra as they walked. Wisps of light floated in the air like magic and lanterns hung like lampposts, but the sky overhead was made of such dense foliage there was no natural occurring light to be seen. The air felt thick and overall the claustrophobic sensation made her every step feel on edge.

It didn't take them long to arrive at the center of the palace. The room was shaped like an octagon with open doorways on every side that had staircases leading down. Clearly they were several stories above ground and the room itself was under the base of a massive tree, its roots twisted like smooth rafters. When Lyra looked up, she couldn't see the center of the tree, instead it gave way to blackness so there was no telling how tall it actually was.

Several elves with copper colored hair swept about the room with placing tables, chairs, cornucopias of fruit and edible flowers. None of them made direct eye contact with her, but she felt their sideways glances and they made sure to give her a wide circumference when moving past her. In the center of the room was a large stone basin atop a pillar. Its familiarity was alarming.

Lyra walked to it with trembling hands as she inspected every inch of it with her eyes. The basin itself was perfectly round and clearly used for holding water though it was empty. The pillar it sat on however was made of effortlessly sculpted gems. The figures were twined trees, the first looked to be a willow tree of clear diamond and the other was a black tree of pure obsidian.

"You'll have to pardon the commotion." Lyra turned from her appraisal when she heard the smooth voice. Sitting on a throne made from a growing tree, sat Thranduil. His eyes were like ice as they stared at her in a mixture of fascination and what appeared to be hunger. Suddenly aware of how thin and transparent her dressing gown was, she folded her arms over her chest. "We are preparing for a celebration. Our most important of the year."

"The Feast of Starlight," Lyra finished and Thranduil stood from his seated position to move towards her. She resisted the urge to step back in retreat as he stood directly in front of her. Easily over six and a half feet he towered over her, his long white hair reaching his trim waist, a sharp nose and a jawline like the razor end of a sword, he looked inhumanly flawless as though he'd been carved from the diamond pillar at her back.

"You've heard of it?" His question was rhetorical and he began circling her like a shark in the water. "Not many outsiders know of our traditions. We are a secret people, unlike your friends."

"The ones you have locked in your dungeons?" Lyra asked with a cold, bitterness in her voice. She hated that her breathing was in shudders, but the way he kept circling her, prowling, taking in every inch of her form made the hairs on her neck stand straight.

"Well I couldn't just let them leave," Thranduil stated as though it were obvious. He paused as he stood behind her, his hand reaching to take hold of a lock of her hair that he brought to his nose. "Not when they have something I want…"

"What would that be?" Lyra snapped as she pulled sharply away from him. He looked annoyed but otherwise unfazed at her abrupt rejection.

"Nauglamir," he replied shortly and walked away from her to a table the others had finished decorating. He poured a glass of white wine from a decanter and into a silver goblet that he brought to her. "Drink," he requested but she doubted she had a choice.

"Thorin will never part with it," Lyra said and took a small drink, the wine was strong and tasted strongly of mulled grapes, "not to you at least."

"Yes, he's made that quite clear," Thranduil stated tersely, "but you're going to help me convince him otherwise."

"Why would I do that?" Lyra asked and he gestured for her to keep drinking. Reluctantly she complied.

"You're not the only one with answers to unsolvable questions," he said taking the empty glass from her and refilling it. "I know who you are, where you come from, and how to get you back."

"That's not possible," Lyra said and finally gave in to her need to put space between them by stepping backward.

"Oh but it is," he said matching her every step with his own, "you're not the first to travel through the portals to Coe'dor."

"Coe'dor?"

"The world you're from," he said with delight that he'd perplexed her. "I know of others who traveled there…others who have traveled _from_ there…into this very room."

"Through the basin," Lyra concluded as she turned to look back at the pillar. "I've seen one like this before."

"Of that I have no doubt. There must be two, an end and a beginning," Thranduil explained. With a snap of his fingers a servant moved forward and filled the bowl with water. Almost immediately Lyra could hear the trickle of water begin to hum. From the center a faint light began to sparkle. "You hear it…don't you?" Thranduil asked as he stood behind her, his chest nearly pressed against her back.

"I do…" she said almost mesmerized. The glow in the bowl wasn't blue like the one she'd seen in the novelty shop, it was colder, like ink poured into water with silver flecks dancing in it. Thranduil watched her with fascination as her eyes locked onto the portal. Though the tune was deaf to his own ears, the swirling images inside began to form and he could see what she did.

"Tell me what you see," Thranduil instructed as his cold hands rested on Lyra's shoulders. The shift had begun to slip over her shoulder and her bare skin was warm. She seemed oblivious to his touch.

"A woman," Lyra observed as she stood transfixed. "She's running…"

 _The raven haired woman, who could only be seen from behind, wore a silver gown that flew behind her as she raced through the courts of the Woodland Realm. Her feet were bare and her wild mane obscured her face as she tripped on a stair and fell hard. Quickly standing to her feet, her form turned enough for Lyra to see that her belly was swollen with child. Returning to her sprint, the scene opened to the main hall where a single man stood near the very basin she was at now. The bodies of three guards lay pooled around him and he extended a hand to the dark haired woman who ran to him. His face became clear as the woman's head tucked under his chin. The face was young and free of most of the cares he'd died with, but the unmistakable green eyes belonged to a younger version of Lyra's father._

" _Come with me, we have to go this very moment," his voice said, though it was distorted as though he were speaking underwater._

" _We do not know where the portal leads," the woman said pulling away._

" _Will you follow me? To whatever end we may face?" Though Lyra still couldn't see the woman's face, she saw her head nod and their hands entwined._

" _Whatever end," she agreed. Stepping around him, the woman placed both hands on the edge of the bowl and began to sing. The water rippled and shone with a pure light. The woman turned then to grab her father's hand. Her eyes shone up at him with contentment as the pulsing light began to cover them like a blanket. Their lips meeting in a kiss as it engulfed them, their forms being pulled into the bowl with a flash. The room around them grew still and the image faded._

The glass of wine she was holding dropped from her hand and splattered on the floor, tears were pouring down Lyra's face. "That man…was my father," she said unable to move. "And the woman…that was…" Thranduil took the initiative to turn her by the shoulders to face him, the shorter woman's wet green eyes looking up at him in a mixture of fear and shock, "that woman was…my mother."

"Yes," Thranduil whispered as he took hold of her face, "my wife."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N I'm back! More to come soon! Thank you for your patience!**

"That wasn't the future," Lyra said fully aware of how close the elven king was standing to her. "That was the past…"

"The Basins of Emon'di can see many things… _do_ many things," Thranduil answered as his fingers found their way to her hair again. "Your mother, Lathron, knew them well. You…" he paused a moment, "…look so much like her…" his head dipped, his lips moving toward hers.

"What are you doing?" Lyra called as she pushed against his chest and ducked away from him. Thranduil stumbled only a step and quickly composed himself as he turned to look back at her.

"Father?" They both turned to look at the elf standing in the doorway behind them.

"What is it, Legolas?" Thranduil practically snapped. Lyra's eyes widened… _Legolas…_

"We sent for the Guard," Legolas said glancing between them in perceived confusion. "You wanted to see them before the festival tonight?" Thranduil straightened and brushed the front of his tunic.

"Yes, send them in, but first, take our _guest_ to the courtyard of the easternmost garden. Wait there until I meet you," he directed.

"The _eastern_ garden?" Legolas asked, this time his poise giving way to very thorough confusion. "That garden is forbidden to all…"

"Was I not clear in my instruction?" Thranduil snapped. "You have your order, now go!" Legolas didn't pause in the least as he moved forward and politely extended his arm to Lyra. Slightly surprised at the kindness, she looked warily at Thranduil before linking her arm with Legolas' and allowing herself to be led away.

"What does Thranduil need to see the guard for?"

"Matters that don't concern you," Legolas replied in a tone that reminded her too much of his father.

"The spider's nest isn't the only concern. There are orcs that are on their way. Warg riders from Dol Guldur are on their way," Lyra said pleadingly hoping there was a hint of the Legolas she'd read about inside the one next to her.

"Dol Guldur?" he asked pausing in the hall to look at her sternly. "You're sure of this?"

"I'm positive; they've been tracking us since we left Rivendell."

"Now I know you're lying. What would dwarves be doing in Rivendell?"

"Matters that don't concern you," Lyra retorted and Legolas jerked his arm to urge them on. "My guess is that's why your father sent for the guard. To increase the patrols around the borders of the palace."

"Now you presume to know my father's plans?" Legolas asked harshly.

"Ask him yourself if you don't believe me," Lyra defended. The Prince said nothing as he led her through a dark passageway that clearly hadn't been used in some time.

The trees on either side of the pale-stone walkway were round and smooth like pillars, their overhanging leaves turned from green and silver to brown and black as though they were ready to fall. The air grew still and silent like the presence in a graveyard. The path ended in a series of three arched trellises that still bore vines, but looked as though they hadn't bloomed in decades. Their brown wires wrapped around the wooden arches like claws.

At the end of the trellises, the path opened to a lowered circular garden that looked like a small coliseum with the raised stone walls creating a perimeter. The walls were likewise covered with dead vines and the once grassy knoll was unkempt the grass was turning brown. Stone planters were empty and the channel that ran like a moat around the outside was bone dry.

Despite the decay of the surrounding plants, in the very center of the garden stood the tallest willow tree she'd ever seen. The trunk was as thick as a redwood and probably stood just as tall. Unable to see the top of it, it's branches hung like silver strands of light and its golden leaves, though dull, were still very much alive.

"What is this place?" Her question was barely above a whisper, the melancholy feel of the courtyard was unlike anything she had felt before. The air was so still and although there were no blooming flowers, a fragrance permeated with every breath.

"It has no name, but we call it Loth O'rin, the Garden of Memory," Legolas answered as he allowed her to take several paces away from him as she explored. "It has grown here since before I was born, it belonged to my father's wife."

"Your father's wife?" Lyra asked turning away from one of the stone pillories, "wouldn't that be your mother?" Her head was still reeling from what Thranduil had claimed. She knew he had no reason to lie, but there was no possible way her mother was elven. Was there?

"My mother was Thranduil's second wife," Legolas said flatly, "he remarried after his first wife, Lathron was overtaken by the Basin of Emon'di."

"Overtaken?" Lyra knew her questions were fragmented and probably sounded pathetic to the mature elf in front of her, but she couldn't help it. At the present, her mind was full of fog and she could hardly put together a complete thought.

"Lathron was of the line of Sindar, the Grey People, descendants of the Noldorin Exiles." He said that as though she knew what that meant, fortunately he gestured for her to follow him and they walked the dirt path behind the willow tree to a small stone room where they once kept troughs of water. "Long ago in the time of The Great Journey, there were those among the Eldar and Avari who chose a life in Beleriand rather than completing their calling to Valinor. They wanted to live apart from the elves. Though no one can say why, it is believed they felt their purpose was to tie their fate to Middle Earth rather than live as immortals."

"They served the Song of Iluvatar," Lyra pieced together and Legolas' eyebrows dropped in confusion. "Eru Iluvatar," Lyra continued, for once being the person with the most information in the room, "sang a song of creation over Middle Earth, from start to finish from the beginning of time to the end, like a finished painting. He chose servants to fulfill his calling, those who would stand throughout time to make sure the song was completed as he intended."

"That could be…" he replied though it was obvious he didn't believe it. "The Exiles were not held in high regard amongst other lines of elves after their absence in the battle against the Dark Lord Morgoth, but in the coming ages they rejoined the elven realms and sought alliances to secure their line."

"Alliances such as marriage," Lyra finished and the Prince nodded. He pointed to the stone wall above her and Lyra's eyes widened as she was met with a full length statue of her mother. Her thoughts immediately flashed to the decaying statue she and Thorin had seen at the entrance of Mirkwood. This one, unlike the first, was kept in immaculate condition and the likeness to her mother and the younger version she'd seen in the vision was perfect. It had once served as a fountain, but now it ran dry.

Her mother had always been beautiful, but most of Lyra's life her mother had been ill. Plagued with cancers and various immune deficiencies, her beauty had always waned in her tired eyes and frail hands. Her complexion had always been on the tawny side, presumably Native American, but clearly that wasn't the case…

"She was beautiful," Lyra said trying to fight the tears in her eyes. "So she was Sindarin…her life tied to the fate of Middle Earth. Is that why she died?" Lyra asked more to herself than Legolas. Living away from the world her soul was bound to… Was that why she'd always been so sickly?

"Yes, the Golden Race, those from the far South who ventured north in the First Age. She was the daughter of Turgon II and Linwe, though she was the second daughter, she was regarded as the most beautiful."

"I guess that made her good marriage material…" Lyra muttered.

"I don't know much about your father, I apologize," Legolas said standing next to her. She looked away from the carved figure to meet eyes with Legolas. "I'm not blind," he commented, "the resemblance you bear is unmistakable. If you are not Lathron's own daughter, you are of a very close relation."

"Apparently she was my mother," she replied looking back to the statue who's flawlessly carved eyes were staring blankly back at her.

"You didn't know?" Legolas asked, his voice full of surprise and compassion. Lyra could only shake her head no. "This was her garden," the Prince said drawing her back from her thoughts. "It was once full of flowers from the distant lands that she tended herself, from what I've been told." Reluctantly she tore away from the statue and followed him back to the grassy knoll and toward the towering willow whose branches fell in curtains.

"What about your mother? Thranduil's second wife?"

"Cintre," he said sitting on one of the stone benches and she joined him. "She was a lady from Doriath, a great fighter and very kind…she's been gone many years now."

"When your father told me my mother was his wife, for a moment I thought that meant we were siblings," Lyra admitted and the corner of Legolas' mouth turned upward. The two couldn't be more opposite in appearance. Her dark hair and tanned skin were the ebony to his ivory flaxen hair and light skin tone. "I'm a little disappointed, to be honest. Being related to the legendary Legolas Greenleaf would be incredible…"

"Legendary?"

"I don't know if your father has told you, but like my mother, I can see into the Basins of Emon'di. Where I'm from we know of you and the extraordinary things you help accomplish in Middle Earth. You're a hero."

"That cannot be, my father has ordered none of the Silvan Elves to depart from The Woodland Realm. I've rarely ventured beyond the Kingdom for more years than I can recall."

"You will one day…you'll help save the world," she said smiling softly at him. He opened his mouth to ask further questions but they both simultaneously became aware of the presence in the entrance of the courtyard.

"Father," Legolas said standing to his feet. Thranduil stood watching them with his piercing eyes and thin lips holding in his hand the unmistakable shape of her guitar case. The sight of which pulled her to her own feet to stand beside Legolas.

"You're needed with the Guard," Thranduil said shortly. "Our sentries have spotted a host of wargs within our borders." Legolas gave Lyra a sideways glance before silently leaving the garden. His father didn't as much as look at him as he passed by. His silver eyes remained on her and she desperately wished there was some element of cover to make her feel less exposed, but the way he looked at her devoured any guard she had put up. "You're the first to enter this garden in over a hundred years," he said as he began walking toward her. "Your mother used to spend all her time here. The seeds of the willow tree were planted on our wedding day. I long thought her devotion to tending the garden was a sign of her affection for me…her devotion to our marriage."

"And it wasn't?" she asked following his train of thought. His slow movements toward her made her think of a python approaching its prey. Despite her pounding heart and her instinct to run, her bare feet were cemented to the ground.

"Your mother was many things, but she was no purveyor of untruth. The care and attention she gave this garden was a replacement for any affection she may have borne to me. A terrible price to pay under the conditions of an arranged marriage I suspect."

"If she didn't love you, why did you agree to marry her? Legolas said she was the daughter of the Exiles, how could that prove to be an advantageous marriage for you?" He had paused in his wanderings toward her to examine the willow tree with an almost disdain, for the first time Lyra noticed the bark bore several marked etchings.

"Dowry," Thranduil replied shortly.

"I thought elves weren't greedy for gold," Lyra retorted.

"There are far more items of value than gold, Lyra." The way he said her name made the hair on her arms stand straight. It oozed from his lips like honeyed tar. "Your mother was one of the last of the Sindar who was capable of charming the Basins of Anan'di and as there are so few left in possession, I secured the one in my throne room by marrying her."

"It sounds as though you didn't marry for love either, you married for power." Thranduil was standing in front of her now, dangerously close, but with the back of her legs pressed against the stone bench, she was left no room to retreat. How had he gotten so close? Her mind was muddled…processing her thoughts and clouded with the mists of Mirkwood she could feel herself dangerously close to succumbing to the confusion.

"I've brought you a gift," he said in a low voice. Her jaw clenched as she dared to keep her eyes locked onto his, determined not to show her intimidation by the unmistakable prowess he exuded over her. Unfortunately, she flinched noticeably when his hand touched hers to pass on the handle of her guitar case. His mouth quirked into a triumphant smile. Thranduil knew he had the upper hand. "Don't you want it?" he asked slowly. Not daring to speak she nodded as she took the handle, their hands connecting. Without releasing it to her yet, his eyes narrowed as he spoke, "I understand this has great meaning to you. Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thank you," Lyra said without the energy to muster enough pride to deny his request. He released the handle to her and the full weight of her guitar sank into her palm. Looking like the cat that caught the canary, his grin stretched from ear to ear.

"Your mother sang," he continued as he brushed the hair from her face with a long finger, "such lovely songs that filled the halls with magic. They used to say her voice could weave its way into the heart of any mortal and bend them to her will. They called her the Laurë lira. The Golden Song. Lira, I imagine is where you acquired your name."

"Lyric…my name is Lyric Willow Ireton." Not knowing why, she felt the need to defend her identity to him. Her stomach was churning with nerves, his icy touch wracking her body with waves of chills as his fingers trailed to her throat. Why couldn't she move? Her limbs hung uselessly at her sides.

"Tell me, Lyric Willow," Thranduil said enunciating her name with pointed intention, "do you sing as well as your mother? Can your voice fill my halls with magic?" Taking her chin in his hand his thumb stroked her lower lip and the sensation nearly made her faint, the muscles in her body going limp. "Will you sing for me, _Lira_?" The moment his breath hit her face, her grip loosened and the clatter of her guitar on the ground startled her, snapping her thoughts back like a glass of water to the face.

Thranduil, too, seemed alarmed by the abrupt noise that disturbed the silence and his hands returned, rightfully, to his sides. Lyra quickly gathered the fallen instrument and moved to the other side of the bench feeling the need to put space and any available object between them.

"Tell me about my father," Lyra asserted to the elven King, "tell me what happened with my mother, why they were fleeing through the Basin, and I'll sing for you." It was Thranduil's turn to look disarmed. Though his face remained expressionless, his eyes told the story of his reluctance.

"We'd been engaged only a short time when I road with my father, Oropher, to the battle of Dagorlad. When we returned, our forces stood only a third of what we'd ridden with. The deaths were many and included among them, my father. I took the throne of my late father with diminished ranks. I was in need of soldiers.

"I wed your mother and, with a desire to increase my reign, I beckoned her to use the Basin of Anan'Di to bring forth warriors who would serve my kingdom and protect my borders. We brought from all lands a company of Rangers. Among them, across the narrow bridge between worlds, was your father. He was clumsy and unfamiliar with sword or bow, but in time, he became a great warrior. His mind for strategy was impressive for a human."

"He was a soldier in my world, Coe'dor…He told me that he was a prisoner for six years, that's why he'd gone missing before I was born…"

"Prisoner…" Thranduil said through nearly gritted teeth, "so among his other less honorable traits he's also a liar."

"My father was a good man!" Lyra defended. Her face was hot with temper.

"A _good_ man who enjoyed the feasts of my halls and rode into great victory alongside my best warriors and in secret shared the bed of my wife!"

"You didn't love her…"

"She was _mine_!" Thranduil yelled and the courtyard filled with a frigid winter air that rushed around them and blew the branches of the willow tree like cracked like whips. "I took her into my lands and made an Exile into a Queen and this was how she repaid me?" he asked as he circled around the bench toward her.

"It was your greed that brought my father here to begin with!" Before she could retreat, his long arm shot out to take her by the throat and pull her against him. His grip was tight but not enough to restrict airflow. Rather it was the fire in his eyes that made her afraid.

"A mistake I have long regretted and will never make again. These lands are no longer welcome to outsiders; especially those that will deny me what's mine. Like the dwarves that sit in my dungeon." She was clutching his wrist with both of her hands ensuring that if his grip tightened, she could resist the hold. His free hand wrapped around her back to press her more firmly against him. The strength of his grasp pulled her onto her toes and she struggled against him.

"Let go of me," she demanded as the cold air stung her cheeks. His grin returned, but it had a far more sinister look than before. The hand on her throat released and instead took her jaw to hold her face still as she writhed.

"I told you of your father," he said drawing her face closer to his, "you owe me a song…" Her efforts to escape his rock hard embrace were useless and the moment he realized she'd given up resisting, his icy lips crashed against hers. Eyes squeezing shut, she dug her nails into his skin, which did nothing to deter him. Cold tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she remained unmoving.

Seconds passed like hours as the hand on her back moved to join the other in holding her face. His kiss slowly turned from an unbreakable lock of possession, to a softer and, daresay, more tender one. Lyra's eyes shot open when the air around them suddenly felt warm again and the darkness lifted like before. Feeling Thranduil's body relax against hers she seized the opportunity to bring her arms to the inside of his elbows. Driving them down with a sharp burst of strength, his hold on her was broken and she shoved him full force backwards and he tumbled over the bench to land hard on his back.

Tears were still leaking from her eyes as he looked up at her from the ground in shock and pangs of conscience when they both heard the two figures approach the entryway.

"Father?" Legolas asked. From next to him, Elbereth moved swiftly forward to Lyra and draped a very welcome blanket over her shoulders. "The healer insisted Lady Lyra required further attention." Legolas was looking just as surprised to see a crying human and his elven father sprawled on the ground uncharacteristically.

Thranduil stood without a word and brushed his silver tunic free of dirt. It was alarming how quickly he regained his former composure. Stepping back toward Lyra he retrieved the guitar case from the ground and extended it to her. Lyra both refused to take it or to meet his eyes. Once again to the rescue, Elbereth took the instrument from the King.

"Tonight," was all Thranduil said before turning on his heel to depart with a controlled haste.

"Are you alright?" Elbereth asked in a whisper.

"No," she replied still trembling. "I need Thorin."

….

" _What are you drawing in the dirt?" Thorin asked as he tucked himself against the trunk of the tree Lyra was under. It was their first night in Mirkwood and despite her recommendations, the brief moments above the treetops might have given him respite against the spell of disorientation, but it didn't calm his anxiety over their presence in the cursed, elven woods._

" _It's just a game," she explained shortly as she continued to scratch at the cross pattern in the dirt with the stick she was holding. "It's called tic-tac-toe. The idea is to get three X's or three O's in a row."_

" _Why are you playing?" he asked amused. It was obvious she was still sore at him from their disagreement on her plans to defend Beorn and the Eagles, but her vexation was dwindling as exhaustion, both mental and physical, began to creep in._

" _One of us has to keep their wits about them," she said with the faintest hint of an insult in her tone. "Besides, I'm bored. You're supposed to have two players, though…so it doesn't really work by yourself."_

" _Good thing there's a surplus of sticks," he said collecting the one from next to him, "show me how to play." Lyra wiped the ground with her foot and drew a new board._

" _I'll play x's, you can be o's and we alternate filling the boxes until we have three in a row or a tie," she explained briefly before playing._

" _Rather simple game," he observed as he watched her draw her shape before making his own._

" _Didn't say you had to play," Lyra said shortly as she drew her second letter._

" _You looked lonely," he teased as he took his turn._

" _Not at all," she replied and he realized that she'd made a diagonal pattern of three x's. "You lose." There was a definite tone of triumph._

" _Ah… children's games," he muttered and Lyra snorted. "Besides, these useless etchings remind me of Khuzdul rather than games."_

" _How so?" she asked looking over at him, their eyes meeting for the first time since their quarrel earlier. Were he not convinced she'd slap him, he might have risked a kiss._

" _This here," he said gesturing to the center of the board, "looks like the symbol for 'far away'." He made a few corrections with his stick and the shape took form into a rune._

" _How do you say it?"_

" _Udlag."_

" _Ood lag?"_

" _Uh-dlag."_

" _Udlag," she corrected as he enunciated for her._

" _Very good, Khuzdul sounds perfect coming from your lips," he flirted, "but I can't say I care to hear you say that you're 'far away'."_

" _Teach me something else then," she said scooting closer to him. "Teach me how to tell you to shut-up, or that you're wrong in Khuzdul."_

" _Why would I do that? We already argue in one language," he said placing a hand on her upraised knee._

" _At least teach me how to say 'no'. It'll make it easier next time you ask for something." She was teasing but rather than rise to the occasion, he took her hand that still held the twig and guided it to scratch a symbol in the dirt. "And you say that…?"_

" _Avalt," he replied and she turned her face to look at him._

 _Inching closer, his eyes dropping to her lips, she whispered, "Thorin?"_

" _Yes, Anan?"_

" _Avalt." He grinned and held her face in his hand to pull her closely. "I said avalt!" she was smiling through her protest and he chuckled._

" _I never said that meant 'no'…" he took her mouth with his, their smiles melding into a brief but burning kiss_.

….

Rather than returning her to the healer's quarters with Elbereth, Legolas escorted her to a turret south of the throne room. The room was small but housed a large day bed with crimson sheets, a table and resin with perfumed soaps, and a dark wood wardrobe. The doors of which were left open and inside hung a single gown.

"My father wishes to escort you to the Feast this evening," Legolas said as he saw her examining it.

"Why do I have a feeling that _isn't_ a request," she said darkly. Legolas didn't respond but shifted his weight apologetically. "You're father isn't right, you know that don't you? He's been in these woods too long, they're starting to drive him mad."

"My father isn't mad!" Legolas defended. "He's protective of these lands and rightfully so."

"Protective, like against spiders?" They held one another's gaze for a long moment before the Prince bowed his head.

"I'll leave you to recover." There was a downhearted tone to his voice and she felt a hint of guilt. It wasn't Legolas' fault Thranduil was succumbing to his own curse. The sickness of the wood felt like a sleeping curse, but instead of eternal slumber, the inhabitants were damned to eternity of walking numbly through a dream world with no hope of waking.

"Here," Elbereth said kindly handing Lyra a glass of water. "You are strong, but the venom may yet linger in you. Try not to exert yourself."

"Well if I didn't have to fight the advances of an insane King…" she said taking a long drink. Elbereth looked at her sympathetically.

"Thranduil hasn't been the same since Lathron departed."

"How would you know?" Lyra asked setting the glass aside.

"My grandmother was a Silvan elf; she long resided in these woods and knew Queen Lathron, or should I say knew _of_ her. It was in his time she vanished."

"I imagine it was quite the scandal."

"Scandal? Perhaps, but as the story is told…and it often isn't anymore, the King Thranduil nearly died of a broken heart."

"He has a heart?" Lyra asked feeling the only venom in her was what she spat in her voice. Elbereth placed a hand on her shoulder in an almost sisterly reprimand.

"You are human, you cannot understand such things. Elven-kind does not love the way human does. Neither is it comparable to dwarf. The immortal soul of an elf can be tied to only one thing for all eternity. Most have the calling of Valinor, but those that love can be bound to their One…with the departure of one's soul, what are you left with but an empty shell?"

"Empty…" Lyra muttered feeling it was an excellent description of Thranduil's eyes. "He said himself he didn't love my mother. The only thing he was departed from was his control of her power."

"That's a dangerous presumption considering you only just discovered who she was," Elbereth said turning her back to fill the resin with warm water for her.

"You sound like you're defending him."

"I'm not, believe me. I'm here to help you on your quest. But you'll need to see reason. The Lady Galadriel spoke of your level head. Especially in this realm, your keenness will be your ally. You've faced tougher challenges than Thranduil. This is another piece to the puzzle."

Lyra knew she was right, but wasn't about to admit it. She'd been disarmed in every way by the white-haired elf and it disturbed her to the core. She'd stood down trolls, orcs, wargs, the villainous Saruman and the Goblin King, but the seductive power of the timeless elf had nearly paralyzed her. The magic of Mirkwood was weaving its spell.

"They'll be guarding the door," Elbereth continued sensing the conversation needed a change, "but I'll leave you to wash and dress." Lyra nodded solemnly and in the woman's absence, Lyra felt a steady now nearly consumed with a feeling of forlorn, Lyra sank to the bed beside her guitar case.

She missed her dwarves. And her hobbit.

"Lyra?" Looking up from her hands, like a miracle from a wishing star, from the closed half of the wardrobe, poked out the curly head of Bilbo Baggins!

"Bilbo!" she cried and he made a quick shushing noise. "Bilbo how did you get here?" she asked rushing to help him out of the freestanding closet.

"Well that required a bit of burglary and a-a certain piece of _courage_ ," he said stepping free. Falling to her knees, they embraced tightly and the homey feel of her good friend brought an instant relief to her troubled mind.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you," she said pulling away to look in his eyes. "How did you know where to find me?"

"Are you kidding, the elves in these parts haven't _stopped_ talking about the newcomers. Dwarves in the dungeons, the daughter of a vanished Queen in the tower, they hardly spoke of the festival tonight."

"They know who…what I am?"

"I've only heard them call you that. My guess is you've got quite the mystery."

"Unfortunately, no. I have answers…too many answers to know what to do with. I preferred the mystery."

"Well whatever they call you, you'll always be our Lyra," Bilbo said patting her hand. She smiled straight from the heart at him.

"If I've said it once, I've thought it a million times: I don't know what I'd do without you Bilbo Baggins."

"You'd be free to get dressed, I'm afraid," he teased and Lyra laughed as she stood to her feet.

"Have you found a way to Thorin and the others?"

"I heard the guards were preparing a room for you up here. I'm afraid I've been hiding in the wardrobe most of the day," he admitted and Lyra felt a wave of sympathy for him.

"We'll both never be able to get out of this tower unnoticed, not even if we both had magic rings. Thranduil is holding the Singing Bowl hostage in the throne room. I think he expects me to use it. I'll be missed at the Feast. I'll try to keep them distracted. By midnight the elves will be so drunk we may be able to escape."

Bilbo paused at the doorway to look back at her with concern in his eyes, "will you…will you be alright?" The adoration in his voice touched her deeply and for a moment, she remembered the fond memory of them sitting atop the trees talking like lifelong friends.

"Bilbo, you may have found your courage in a ring…but I've found my courage in you. I'll be alright. Come find me when you've found a way to the dungeons." She kissed him on the head before he removed the ring from his pocket, placed it on his finger, and disappeared.

Lyra wasted no time moving back to the wardrobe. Pulling the dress out, the cool fabric slid easily through her fingers. Finally with a moment of privacy, she removed the thin shift and pulled the gown over her head.

The dress was a single shouldered gown, the bodice made of white, silver, and gold shining thread and littered with gold stones that decorated embroidered golden leaves. The bottom was layers of flowing translucent, silver material that split in high seams and flowed so freely around her feet she could tell it was originally meant for someone taller than her. Adorning the accompanying gold band that encircled her bare bicep, she stood staring at herself in the mirror.

It was hard to feel anything but beautiful in such an incredible dress. There was little doubt in her mind who it used to belong to. Thranduil undoubtedly had a flair for irony. At least he'd the courtesy of returning her boots to her.

"Mom…" she whispered in a silent prayer, "why didn't you tell me?" Her reflection revealed slumped shoulders and defeated eyes. What would her parents think in that moment? Hadn't they risked everything to escape this very castle? Now, probably hundreds of years later, she was facing the same challenge. As though the very spirit of her mother descended on her, Lyra's shoulders straightened, her jaw set with determination.

Thranduil might try to lock the princess in the tower, but Lyra was no Cinderella. Feeling as though she looked more like her mother in that moment than she ever had before, Lyra sat in front of the mirror and used the hair charms to ornament her hair. Thranduil wanted her to play the part so… by God if she was going to distract the elven King, she was going to be a damn good one.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N Thanks for your patience! Here's another chapter. Let me take a moment to remind everyone of the M rating for this story? Thanks!**

Lyra felt his eyes the moment she entered the room. He'd sent two guards to retrieve her and she'd followed without protest. Knowing Bilbo was set to task, there was a comfort she hadn't born before.

Thranduil was draped on his throne while the hall of the throne room bustled with perfectly dressed elves of more variety than she'd expected. The mixture of white-blonde and red hair with uniformed silver tunics and gray gowns, the feast looked every bit the reflection of starlight. As though she weren't going to stand out already, her golden gown was the only among them.

"Mereth Nuin Giliath," _Blessed Starlight_ , "You must be famished," Thranduil said rising to meet her in the center of the hall near the Basin that was now dry and silent. Without waiting, he took her hand and hooked it under his arm as he led her to the banquet table where Legolas and a few others, including Elbereth, sat.

"Pleased to see you've regained a sense of propriety, King Thranduil," Lyra said taking the seat he offered her, "I was beginning to think you insisted that all of your guests roamed your halls half-dressed and frightened."

"I provided you aide, our finest healer, and accommodations. Is there more you require?" he asked with a curved brow.

"I sit at a table with a feast before me while my companions sit in prison cells like criminals."

"Then I should think you have more reason to be grateful than complacent," Thranduil stated and took the seat next to her. Though averse to give the King any glimpse of obedience, she couldn't deny her hunger and the food in front of her smelled amazing. She could no longer resist eating when the others began. "When you've sated your appetite, I think it time you fill your end of the bargain."

"Is that a request or a command?"

"We had an agreement, did we not?" Thranduil asked as the wine was poured.

"Was that before or after you kissed me?" From next to her Legolas choked on his drink and Thranduil's expression hardened to a glare.

"Excuse us," Thranduil said curtly. It took Elbereth and Legolas a moment to realize he was speaking to them and they slowly moved from their seats. Lyra gave Elbereth a confident look as the elf-maid glanced back hesitantly at her.

"Your bold tongue does you no favors," Thranduil stated in a harsh whisper as he leaned toward her. Lyra lifted her glass to take a drink of wine.

"Your bold lips do _you_ no favors," she retorted. He grabbed for her hand and she pulled it away to stare intently into his eyes. "I am not my mother, Thranduil. You can dress me like her, kiss me like her, and make me sing like her, but I will never be her."

"Is that what you think I want?" he asked as he sat back in his chair with a laugh. His amusement confused her and he laughed harder as he ran a finger over the brim of his goblet. "I want many things, Lyra: Nauglamir, the gems of Lasgalen, the preservation of my kingdom, but what I want most is revenge. Revenge against those that have denied me what they have promised. Is that not the same quest you dedicated yourself to for that dwarven king of yours?"

"Thorin seeks restoration, not revenge."

"Call it what you will, but like Erebor, I was robbed as well. Robbed of a wife by your wretched father, robbed an heirloom by the dwarves. If Thorin continues to deny my offer to return to me what is rightfully mine, then I will continue to deprive him of the very things stolen from me: the heirloom of his kingdom and a wife."

"Thorin doesn't have a wife," Lyra said quietly fearing she already knew his reply.

"No," Thranduil said slowly as he stood and leaned over the back of her chair to speak into her ear, "and he never will, so long as I keep _you_ here." So there it was. She had no cards left to play. Any chance of reasoning with the elven king was lost.

"So that's your revenge is it? Not just against Thorin, but also against my mother. You couldn't keep her here, so you'll keep me here."

"I seek no revenge on your mother," he said blankly as he moved to take the seat Legolas was in and downed a glass of wine in one long drink. "May she live a long and blissful life in Coe'dor," he continued grabbing another glass.

"She's dead." Thranduil paused mid drink to look at her. "My father too."

"My sincerest condolences for your loss," Thranduil stated but his mouth was twitching as he continued to drink.

"Don't patronize me Thranduil, it's a bad look for you," Lyra reprimanded. "She was sick…all the time. Was that because she departed Middle Earth?"

"Likely," he said as he swirled the wine in his glass and watched the liquid whirlpool. "She would have known the consequences when she departed."

 _To whatever end_ …her mother's last words in Middle Earth.

"Then why? Why would she leave if she knew she was going to die?"

"When I heard there was another who could read the Basins of Emon'di, I had assumed they would be someone of higher intelligence," Thranduil insulted.

"And I didn't expect the King of the Woodland Realm to be such a lecherous drunk. I guess we'll both have to tolerate disappointment," Lyra retorted and Thranduil set down his fourth glass of wine.

"If you must know, she did it to save you," he replied leaning back in his chair, "there were problems with her pregnancy. She was convinced they could not be cured in this world."

"Were _you_ the problem?"

"I knew the child wasn't mine, if that's what you're referring to. Your mother was not, how should I say… _generous_ when it came to sharing her bed with me."

"I suddenly love my mother more than I did before," Lyra reacted and Thranduil's eyes narrowed at her. She hid her smirk by taking a drink from own glass.

"I would not have harmed you or her, but I made it clear that once the pregnancy was completed she was to depart the kingdom forever."

"That's kind of you."

"You seem surprised, that I'm capable of kindness." Was that hurt or suspicion in his voice?

"When it suits you, I believe you're very good at pretending to be kind," Lyra answered.

"I am King. Have you _any_ inhibition about the insults you offer?" He asked returning to his glass while Lyra finished her own.

"What about my father, were you going to kill him?" she asked ignoring his question. Thranduil didn't answer but instead fixed her with a steady stare. "I take that as a yes."

"There are limits to my…pretending," he threw back. "He threatened what was mine. He entered my wife's bed and filled her belly with his seed…"

"I get the picture…"

"What else should I have done? Allowed such a disgrace in my kingdom, my own household?"

"Yeah well…I won't make excuses for them, but neither would I want him to be killed. Cheaters… adulterers deserve a lot of things, but execution isn't one. I'd rather they live with the guilt of their wretched selves."

"What is this?" Thranduil asked leaning closer to her to examine her eyes, "that statement reeks of personal experience." It was Lyra's turn to fix a stare as she delved into her second glass. "Tell me," he ordered with a smile on his face.

"I was married once," Lyra acquiesced. Maybe charming a compromise out of the King was still possible. "When I was off at war he found another woman and they started a family of their own. So I guess we're both the jilted spouse."

"That's amusing," he said still smiling, "perhaps the most amusing thing I've heard in quite some time. Amazing how things come full circle, Nathron's own daughter the victim of the same offense she bore me?" Thranduil laughed rich and full and he polished off another glass before signaling for the servant to bring another.

"You could enjoy it a little less," Lyra suggested.

"Why shouldn't I enjoy it?" he asked leaning toward her again, his face inches from hers, his breath smelling of the sweet wine. "I told you, what I want most is revenge. And you've given me satisfaction," he said, his eyes flickering down to her lips, "what other satisfying things do you have to offer me?"

"Wine?" she asked handing him her glass. He took it and kept his eyes locked on hers when he drank it to the last drop. Her stomach churned at the darkening look he was giving her when a guard approached.

"My Lord, it's almost time. You wanted to see the dwarf before midnight," he said drawing Thranduil's eyes away from her. The King stood and, holding his wine glass in one hand, extended his free one to Lyra.

"Now you will remain here while I attend business and when I return you will fulfill your end of the deal. At the height of the evening, when the stars are brightest, you'll lure the power from the Basin. Do well and perhaps I'll release you in the morning."

"What if I don't know how to do that?" Lyra asked and took his hand to rise from her seat. He pulled her hard against him and held her by the waist.

"I suggest you learn… _quickly_ ," he said menacingly. Before she could move, he released her and turned to the guard. "See that she does not wander into the hall where I'm meeting the dwarf. I'd hate to spoil the surprise," Thranduil instructed. He handed the empty glass to the guard and retrieved another from the table before sauntering from the room.

"Is he like this every Feast?" Lyra asked looking at the guard. The brown haired elf's only response was a sigh and an eye roll.

 _You have to hand it to them…Silvan elves have more personality._

…

"You've wasted enough of my time dwarf. Have your days in the dungeons brought you to your senses?" Thranduil asked as he entered the Hall where Thorin stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I don't think you're one to lecture me on coming to my senses," Thorin stated as he noted the wine glass that clearly was not Thranduil's first.

"You would do well not to insult me, son of Thrain, I am in no mood to be denied this evening!"

"Then it is a wonder you summoned me at all, my answer has not changed from the last time you dragged me here." Thorin was in an equally salty mood. Three days in a prison cell with no word of Lyra, he'd finally succumbed to sleep and dreamt of her face and their times together and now he was awoken to face a drunken narcissist.

"I have more to offer than my army. I have word of your beloved, does that intrigue you?" Thranduil asked as he sank into his chair.

"Tell me!" Thorin snapped and the guard at his side placed a threatening hand on his shoulder to restrain him. "Tell me of Lyra."

"She lives, if that's what you're wondering," the elven King answered as he once again returned to swirling his drink.

"Then she reached Rivendell in time," Thorin sighed in relief. "For that I thank you, King Thranduil," Thorin said but the words tasted like vinegar.

"Compliance suits you, Thorin, now let us reason. You have something I want and I have something you want…"

"The only thing I want from you is freedom. We have no further business to discuss."

"What if I could see Lyra restored to you in time to enter the mountain? You have until Durin's Day if I'm not mistaken. I imagine you'd want your beloved at your side on such a triumphant day."

Thorin was silent for a long moment. In truth, there was nothing he wanted more than to have Lyra at his side, in his arms, riding victoriously into the mountain but… "That I also must decline."

"What?" Thranduil snapped standing abruptly to his feet.

"Lyra is safe in Rivendell. I will send for her when I've reclaimed Erebor and dealt with Smaug," Thorin replied.

"Your sentiment is beyond repugnant," Thranduil chided as he downed the last of his drink. He had half a mind to drag Lyra into the room to break the stalemate. "Lyra is still within my control…harm could befall her…"

"You will not touch one hair on her head!" Thorin yelled and once again had to be restrained. "Your quarrel is with me. Let this be a matter between men."

"As a _man_ what could you expect to offer a woman such as Lyra?" Thranduil asked condescendingly. "You're a king with no kingdom, a prisoner in a cage you cannot escape and the leader of a people in exile."

"All matters that are of no consequence to you," Thorin said through gritted teeth.

"You don't know who she is, do you?" Thranduil continued in his interrogation. "I am no fool. She is no mere woman."

"No she is not," Thorin admitted. Thranduil's jaw clenched. He clearly was not going to reveal Lyra's true identity, ability, or location to the dwarf, but neither was the dwarf going to relent the jewels without information.

"A pack of orcs has tracked you to these woods, if you do not agree to give me what is rightfully mine, I will hand you over to them without mercy," Thranduil threatened.

"I'll take a pack of orcs over another minute in your presence!"

"Fine! Rot in my dungeons. A hundred years is like a day to my kind. I'll enjoy watching you suffer."

"The only thing causing my suffering is these abhorrent meetings!" This time it was Thranduil who needed to be restrained by one of his guards. Shoving the guard's hand away, Thranduil stood toe-to-toe with Thorin, the hatred between the two radiating like heat.

"You'll never see your precious mountain or Lyra ever again. That I swear to you. Take him away!" Thorin hated to admit it, but those final words disturbed him to the core. This time they dragged him kicking and screaming back to his cell.

…

Lyra was examining the Basin, trying to find any clue on how she could read the symbols, when she heard Thorin shouting from down the southern corridor. She moved to race toward the sound when the guard at the entrance gave her a warning look. Feeling helpless and worried that Thranduil had resorted to torture, she turned her back to hide her face from the on looking guard.

She took a long sip of her wine to steady her nerves, mentally reminding herself not to get too sloshed, despite the temptation. With her back to the pillar, she suddenly felt a tug on her dress, but when she looked back she saw nothing. Then there was another tug and she saw her hem moving. Adverting her eyes back to the room that was bustling with inebriated elves, she held the brim of her glass just below her lips to obscure her mouth.

"Bilbo, is that you?" she whispered. Several rapid tugs alerted her it was. "We've got to get them out, have you found the wine cellar?" Another tug. "Quickly, before they notice, lead the way."

It was difficult to maneuver with him pulling her dress while she tried to remain of stoic posture so as not to alert attention. As she neared the doorway, the guard who'd fetched Thranduil looked her way and she slid to a stop next to him and extended her cup to him. "Mereth Nuin Giliath," she said bowing her head. He didn't smile but he took the cup and drank. She nodded to him and moved out the doorway with no protest.

"Good cover," Bilbo said once they were down the hall and he'd slipped the ring off his finger. "Everyone is in the courtyard, but we'll need to hurry."

"Lead on!" she said and gathered the bottom of her dress in her hands so she could move more freely. They padded along, keeping close to the walls as they descended the stairs. Twice they had to stop to let a patrol pass, but it seemed even the guards on duty were well into their cups. The normally silent stalking of the Mirkwood elves that moved as quietly as still air, were shuffling their feet, speaking loudly and laughing.

It took several minutes for them to reach the entrance to the dungeons, which increased her anxiety. She knew Thranduil wouldn't be occupied long and he would certainly be looking for her. Bilbo was fumbling with the keys before he found the right one that granted access. Handing her a duplicate copy of the key, they traversed the last steps separately as they searched for the dwarves.

"I told him he could go _Ish kakhfê ai'd dur rugnu!_ , him and all his kin!" Lyra couldn't help the smile as she followed the sound of Thorin's booming voice. The moment her eyes saw him, though his back was turned, a wave of relief washed so powerfully over her that she broken into a sprint. "At least Lyra is far beyond these borders…"

"Not quite," she said once she'd reached the bars. He turned quickly, the startled look on his face and the giddiness of her relief made her laugh. "Miss me?" she teased as she fumbled with the lock, her hands were shaking.

"Lyra, what-what are you doing here? You-you were sent to a healer in Rivendell."

"Close," she replied still struggling to crank the key. "I was sent to a healer _from_ Rivendell. Our host is quite clever with a turn of phrase." Speaking of turns, the key finally made the lock give way and she yanked the door open. Finally fully revealed to each other, her golden jeweled dress contrasting his disheveled under clothes and knotted hair, the heat between them became palpable.

"You look…"

"Beautiful? Thank you," she stated shortly and flung her arms around him. He wasted no time returning the embrace, his strong arms crushing her against him. Thorin buried his face in her neck, her sweet fragrance filling him and quenching the yearning he'd felt for her these last days.

"I long for the day you allow me to complete a compliment," he teased pulling away and looking down at her, his perfect blue eyes glistening.

"I don't think dwarves live that long," she chided in return and took his hand to pull him from the cell. "We have to hurry," she started to say, but Thorin abruptly pulled her back against him by their adjoined hands. Without any need of encouragement, their lips met in a passionate kiss as though their three days apart had been decades.

Lyra clung to his sides and back, practically tearing the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him securely against her, their bodies fusing together like melted steel. Thorin's large hands held her by the back of the neck and her face ensuring her lips moved nowhere but against his. The emotion between them created such a welcome warmth that it spread through them like a bonfire in snow.

For the first time in days, Lyra felt the chill leave her, and the way his calloused hands rubbed her skin, his fingers pressed firmly into her neck, her heated desire began its smooth climb as her mind swam with fantasies of what else their bodies could do together. Clearly on the same line of thinking, Thorin's tongue danced in her mouth as he sought to consume every delicious taste of her he could acquire.

"Ahem!" Reluctantly parting, Lyra turned her glazed eyes to the door of the cell where several blushing faces watched. Bilbo had freed nearly all of the others who were eager to be reunited with their female companion. Thorin's hand urged her by the small of her back and they exited the cell and Lyra was pulled in for several hugs, the first of which belonging to Fili.

"Took your time rescuing us. Leave it to Lyra to go dress shopping while we're locked in prison," he goaded, "you must have been trying dresses on for days." Laughing she hugged Kili next.

"Glad you settled on one, or we'd never get out of here," Kili finished giving her a similar look of appraisal.

"I call this my, Get out of Jail Free Outfit." Her retort elicited laughter from them, but Thorin's growl silenced them.

"Enough, we need to move. It won't be long before we're missed." He looked to Lyra who turned to Bilbo.

"This way, follow me!" the company obeyed, single file across the bridge they'd previously come from, their pace quickening with every passing moment.

Keeping up with them while holding the folds of her dress, she nearly tripped on the steps as they left the cellblock and into the cellars. Lyra paused to lock the door behind them, hoping to deter anyone who may be following. By the time she entered the small room lined with bottles and kegs, the dwarves were already climbing into the barrels.

"Quickly, please," Bilbo said in a harsh whisper. She helped boost Dori into one of the top tiers and turned on her heel.

"You too Bilbo," she said and gestured toward an open one. He clamored inside and poked his curly head back out.

"What about you?" he asked, his round eyes were full of concern.

"Someone has to pull the lever," she whispered while kneeling down to look him in the eye. "Take the river to Lake Town, you'll meet a man called Bard. He will help you." Bilbo looked hesitant for a moment before reaching his hand out to her. She clasped it and felt the small object in her palm.

"For luck."

"I'll return this," she said and kissed his forehead before standing. "Everyone ready?" she asked and stood by the lever.

"Lyra, aren't you coming?" Bofur asked. His only reply was the cranking of the shaft and the lowering of one end to the trap door. Thirteen voices of protest were swallowed in the gap followed by loud splashes and what she assumed was cursing in Khuzdul. Before the last barrel disappeared, a loud grunt and the roll of a body hit the floor. "Thorin, damnit, get out of here!" She was desperate to keep her voice to a whisper, but he was making it difficult.

"By Mahal, I'm not leaving you here to face the punishment of our escape," he said rising to his feet and taking her arm in a tight grasp.

"Thorin I can't. He- the Basin…the ceremony at midnight. If he sees that I'm gone we'll only be captured again before we can make it half a mile. You need the head start. I can demand an audience with Thranduil and buy you some time, please trust me." She made to pull her arm away but he turned and grabbed her shoulders.

"I'm not asking, Lyra, you're coming with us if I have to drag you. Thranduil will show no mercy once he's been denied what he wants."

"I'm under Galadriel's protection, Thranduil wouldn't risk it. Besides, I have a backup plan if he doesn't release me by morning." The ring was gripped tightly in her right hand.

"What you ask, I cannot do," he said fiercely. "I cannot leave you here with that _nagra_." His face turned softer and his left hand found its way to her cheek. "We're leaving…together."

"Your quest is Erebor, not me," Lyra said placing her hands on his firm chest.

"Why must I choose when you're both within reach?"

"We do what we must," she replied, her eyes falling to his lips. Sliding her hands upward and around his neck she brought him down for a hard kiss. Just as he responded, she pulled back. "Forgive me…" thinking she meant the kiss, he smiled and reached for her. Lyra stomped hard on the ground, the barrel door tipping open and she shoved Thorin by the chest into the opening. He fell hard into the blackness and crashed into the water below. When he surfaced, the door had already closed and the current was sweeping him toward his companions and away from his beloved.

"Lyra!" …

She could hear him screaming for her as the river carried him away. Lyra stood frozen for a moment, tears stinging her eyes as she immediately felt the absence of his warmth against her. Pushing her feelings aside, she turned and surveyed the room. With the barrels gone, the room seemed larger.

Farther back in the corner, three elves were passed out at a table with empty wine glasses in front of them. She quietly hung the key ring on a hook near them, stuffed the ring between her breasts under her dress, and picked up a wine decanter.

"My lords!" she said loudly. The three were startled awake, two of them drawing swords while the other tumbled backwards over his chair and landed on his backside. "Forgive my intrusion, someone was sent for more wine and they didn't return. King Thranduil is enraged!" They scrambled about, sheathing their swords, the two picked up a keg, one of them on either side. "Will you escort me back?" she asked the fallen elf as she held a hand out to him, her voice was dripping with what she hoped was innocence.

"Certainly, my lady," he said taking her hand, rising, and hooking her arm around his. The two of them led the way as the others followed with the keg. The elf whose arm she held, grabbed the key ring from the wall and hooked it to his belt before they began the ascent.

…

Once back in the Great Hall, Lyra gaped at the tables littered with empty goblets and every chair and entryway was draped with drunken elves. There were clusters of them laughing and dancing as the instrumentalists played harps and drums. It had grown incredibly dark, the only light coming from the lit candles and lanterns that seemed as though they struggled to emit even the faintest glow. The scene looked like something out of a Dionysus parable.

"Lyra." Her name was whispered so fervently in her ear she nearly jumped out of her skin. A long arm wrapped around her abdomen from behind and the guard at her side released her as Thranduil pulled her away. "I was beginning to think you'd escaped."

"Escaped?" Lyra chuckled nervously as she squirmed out of his grasp. "With your guards watching my every move? I can't turn invisible you know." Thranduil joined her laughter, his eyes devouring her.

"It's time," he said taking her hand and leading her to the center of the room to the Basin of Emmon'di. "My people!" Thranduil called and the Hall quickly fell silent. "We gather again on the Feast of Starlight to once again light our sacred realm. Unlike years of past, we will not simply be lit by the dwindling lights of a few stars. We have among us one who can harness that light to empower our halls for ages to come. Let the ritual of light being."

Thranduil took the white pitcher he was handed from a servant and poured its contents into the basin. The liquid was thick and such a dark red it appeared nearly black. It oozed into the basin and filled to the brim. Handing the pitcher back, Thranduil waved his hand overhead, and the tree from which his throne grew, branches looming overhead, began to rustle. The limbs of the tree parted as though being pulled by a drawstring and the night sky became visible overhead.

The glass tree that was carved into the side of the basin began to glow and trickles of starlight fell around them like silver drops of rain. They bounced off the ground like sparks, but when they hit Lyra's skin, they felt as soft as the brush of a feather. The elves around them all stood, holding their arms out and laughing as the streams of light fell from the sky in a glorious display.

"Sing," Thranduil commanded. Lyra looked back at him, his eyes glowing from the light.

"Thranduil, I don't know how this Basin works," Lyra admitted. His hand shot out to grab her chin painfully.

"You had better learn quickly." He shoved her toward the Basin and she fell against it, her hands landing on either side, her face mere inches from the red contents. Gripping the edge, she gazed into the liquid hoping it would begin to hum like it did with water.

But it was silent.

Her grip tightened in panic as Thranduil stormed toward her. The other elves seemed oblivious of the tension as they danced and cheered. Starlight bounced off the ground and tables, the trees around them growing lighter, lanterns burning brighter, and the mirth in the room growing sweeter.

Thranduil grabbed her by the back of the neck and held her head over the Basin, "Sing!"

" _Starlight, look at us shine  
Could you be mine  
Could you be mine  
White lies watching the skies  
Could you be mine  
Could you be mine  
Don't go wasting your time  
Don't go losing your mind_

 _Starlight, look at us shine  
Could you be mine  
Could you be mine  
Maybe all we get is this one night  
Maybe we don't need next time around  
Whoa.  
Could you be mine  
Even if the stars come falling down  
We can just watch 'em hit the ground_"

Light erupted from the Basin like an explosion knocking both Lyra and Thranduil backward. The elves around them froze as the light pulsated like the beacon of a lighthouse. Suddenly the starlight that fell around them in trickles, poured like a waterfall. The gentle, feathery touches became sharp as needles that tore at Lyra's arms like thorns. Curling into a ball as the light continued to pour in torrents, she felt a heavy figure fall on top of her.

Like the slam of a percussion instrument, the Basin on Emmon'di rang out and the light slowly faded. The streams of starlight became wisps of ash in the air and the realm around them glowed of a brilliant silver hue like Lyra has never seen before. The trees around them felt…pure.

"You've done it," Thranduil said gazing down at her. The heavy figure that had shielded her from the prickling beams was none other than the white haired King. He propped himself up and stood. Pulling Lyra to her feet, he held her against him as they looked in the bowl of the Basin. "Not since your mother lived here has the draught of Mirkwood sap been purified…"

"What does that mean?" she asked observing that the formerly blackish liquid was now clear and clean as water.

"The light of the Woodland Realm has dwindled with the presence of the Basin with none to harness its power. Starlight has sustained us, but the untapped power has flown like poisoned sap in the trees, threatening to consume the woods. Now, with you, we can once again reclaim the pieces of the Wilderland that have been lost over the ages. The borders of the Woodland Realm will have no bounds. It means," Thranduil said his eyes afire as he looked at her, "Mirkwood has once again found a queen."

"What?" Lyra asked pulling sharply away from him. Over his shoulder she saw Elbereth giving her a look of horror and concern.

"Sire, the dwarves have escaped," a guard whispered loudly to Thranduil. The elven King looked from the guard to Lyra with a slightly annoyed but otherwise vacant expression.

"Take the Lady to her room, I'll deal with her later." The guard moved forward and took her arm and started to drag her away.

"Thranduil you cannot keep me here!" Lyra protested as she yanked her arm away. "We had a deal, you said you'd let me go."

"That was before you aided the escape of my enemies, since I am now deprived the life sentence of thirteen dwarves, I'll settle for yours." Lyra drew her hand back and slapped the fair-skinned liar. The crack rang over the instruments and the mutterings and everyone stopped to stare. Using the back of his hand, Thranduil pressed to his mouth to reveal a single drop of blood. His eyes widened, enraged, and he charged toward her only to be intercepted by Elbereth and Legolas.

"We'll take care of her, Father," Legolas said with both of his hands on Thranduil's shoulders. Although ready to protest, Elbereth quickly ushered Lyra away before Thranduil could say another word. Followed by a guard, the two women quickly retreated the Hall and to the room Lyra was in before.

"Here," Elbereth said to Lyra as she closed the door behind her and putting a barrier between them and the guard. "You cannot linger in this place. Thranduil's hold is a noose on your neck, tightening to lynch with every moment.

"What can I do? He watches my every move!" Lyra cried with a hand to her forehead as she paced the room.

"I may know of a way out…" Elbereth began.

"If you're thinking the wine cellar, my guess is, those guards will be watching the hatch more thoroughly this time."

"No, not there. When Prince Legolas led me to the grove with the willow tree, I asked about the decay of the trees. He stated that the spring that ran in the underground tunnels was running dry but that it used to lead to the river that still flows to Lake Town."

"Tunnels? How do I get there?"

"This I do not know," Elbereth answered, "but I can find out. This I promise you. Can you find your way back to the tree?"

"Yes I think so," Lyra replied as she tried to remember the path she and Legolas had taken. Elbereth moved toward her and took both of Lyra's hands in hers.

"Give me one hour. Meet me at the willow tree and together we will find an escape. Should we fail, I will send word to Lady Galadriel."

"We'd better not fail," Lyra said, "inciting an argument between Lothlorien and Mirkwood is the last thing we need on the brink of a waking a dragon."

"We shall not fail," Elbereth encouraged. "One hour."

"One hour," Lyra agreed and Elbereth made for the door. "Wait…the Singing Bowl?"

"It was placed with your things along with the dwarves' confiscated items."

"Elbereth, I need that bowl," Lyra pleaded, "and my sword. It will be the most beautiful among the weapons. I can't leave without them." Elbereth looked hesitant but she nodded.

"Be safe."

"You too."

The door closed. The redhead was now out of sight. Lyra moved quickly around the room trying to find anything that might help, but the room was practically barren. The wardrobe was empty, having only previously contained the one dress she now wore (and secretly a hobbit who was now long gone). There was nothing under the bed. The washbasin was dry and there was no secret key under the only plant in the room. Even her white sheaf had been removed. All that remained was her guitar, still in its case, and Lyra mentally berated herself for not hiding a weapon of some kind in it.

Then she remembered the ring.

Fumbling with the sparkling jewels on the neck of her dress, she pulled the smooth item from between her breasts. The weight of it in her hand suddenly lightened and she could swear it changed sizes…

…was that humming?

…

The orcs were upon them before the guards were. As though knowing they'd take the river, the moment they'd been beyond the boundaries of the forest, archers had sprayed the barrels with arrows. By some miracle they'd made it to shore without injury. Unarmed and on lower ground, the dwarves had charged up the bank brandishing rocks and branches.

"That's the last of them," Fili claimed as he pulled the stolen orc blade from the chest of its former owner.

"Not likely," Dwalin replied. "More than fifty orcs were chasing us. We've killed barely a dozen. It's likely they split up. More will be waiting for us down river."

"We can't risk going back into the woods," Kili chimed in.

"I'll not go back in there for the rest of my days!" Nori shouted and Dori put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Lyra said to look for the boatman. She called him Bard," Bilbo spoke up. At the mention of their missing companion, all eyes looked back to the mouth of the river.

"I can't believe we left her behind," Ori sniffed.

"She made her choice, to spare us," Dwalin said. "We cannot dishonor her sacrifice by failing our quest."

"Sacrifice? She's not dead!" Kili yelled, but he faltered, "is she?" he looked to his uncle who stood with his eyes downcast as he wiped the blood from the crude sword he held. "Thorin?"

"Let's move," he said shortly and led the way down stream toward the Lake. The two Princes exchanged looks with Balin who could only smile sadly before he followed his King. A somber silence fell over the company as one by one they turned from the woods and stepped in line behind Thorin.

"There's a boat!" Bofur called when they'd crested the hillside dam that marked the boundary between territories. Below them they saw a boat with patched, but clean, sails and a dark haired man who was fishing the empty barrels out of the water and hoisting them on board.

"Hello there!" Balin called and the man turned abruptly and reached for his bow. "Hold on! We mean you no harm!"

"What do you want?" the raven-haired man asked, his hand still precariously close to the weapon.

"We're…travelers, fallen on hard times…"

"Dwarves wandering from the Black Woods carrying no supplies and brandishing orcish weapons? I'd call that more than 'hard times'," he observed.

"We have no desire to harm anyone," Thorin chimed in as he stepped to the front. "We only seek passage to Lake Town where we might procure clothes and shelter."

"Will you help us?" Fili asked.

"There are none who are released from Thranduil's dungeons, my guess is that you escaped. I have no desire to harbor fugitives and start conflict with the elves. Theirs is the only trade remaining for my people…." The man looked them over one last time before turning back to the barrels. "Find someone else."

"Bard!" Bilbo called and the man sharply stood upright again. "That-that's your name, isn't it? Bard?" Bilbo's only answer was a small nod. "Please, you must help us. There is no one else who will. If you don't…we'll die out here." His soft plea mixed with his uncanny ability to convey such sincerity in so few words slowly dissolved Bard's reluctance.

"Help me with these barrels," he relented. "I'll give you passage." Balin nodded fondly at Bilbo as they trekked down the embankment and Bard used the rowing oar to push the boat closer to shore for them to board. "We'll need to be discreet. The Master of the town doesn't care for outsiders."

"We promise to bring no trouble on you," Balin stated and Bard gave him a disbelieving look. Deciding not to press his luck, he turned to help the others gather the empty barrels. He noticed Thorin standing on the far side of the ship staring at the glorious shadow of Erebor that could be seen as a dark shadow against the sky that was growing brighter as dawn approached. "She's within reach now," he consoled.

"With one hand I reach toward Erebor…with the other I hold on to hope that lies behind. I stand here torn between the two not know what to do. Tell me friend, tell me what I should do?" Thorin asked, his voice teetering on the edge of being overcome with emotion.

"You hold on to both, Thorin," Balin encouraged, "you hold on to both and you don't let go."

…

The ring sat firmly on the table. Lyra had been staring at it for a long while weighing the consequences of using it. With what lore she knew from the books, even having the ring in her possession for a single moment could result in forever being marred. But to wear it? It was no small decision to wear the One Ring…the very thing Sauron's essence was tied to. She wasn't the wisest person, but the heightened temptation she felt to keep it, use it, and wear it gave her pause to do anything of the sort.

But she needed an escape.

Months of journeying with the dwarves, fighting, surviving, scheming and throwing herself down the rabbit hole of discovering her personage and who her parents were could not go to waste. She _would_ finish what she started.

The moment she reached for it, her mind made up to use it, there was a rattle at the door. Flying to her feet, having been sitting on the bed, she turned in time to see Thranduil moving through the doorway. Her jaw clenched and she turned her back to obscure the view of the ring on the table. His eyes were trained on her as he closed the door behind him and he walked closer, holding two glasses in one hand and a decanter in the other.

"I would say your performance was a rousing success," he stated as he filled both glasses and set the decanter next to the wash basin. "A toast."

"Hasn't the bartender cut you off yet?" she inquired as she blatantly refused the glass he was offering. Thranduil's expression didn't falter, but it was obvious, though he didn't get the reference, he understood the meaning and was annoyed.

"Have you considered my offer?" he asked as he drew closer to the bed and examined her guitar that she'd removed from its case feeling it would be easier to carry it by the strap during her escape. Lyra took the opportunity where his eyes were off of her to take the ring from the table and grip it in her hand.

"Which offer? There have been so many and they seem to constantly be changing." Thranduil returned his gaze to her and he took a drink of his glass.

"Let me rephrase," he said as he stood in front of her, "my… _proposal_." He once again held the second glass out to her and she made no attempt to accept it. He stepped closer and Lyra's breath caught as he reached an arm around her to set the glass on the table behind her, his face momentarily dipping over her shoulder. "There are things I can offer that would benefit a woman like you."

"Besides wine?" she asked sarcastically. He stood upright again, though he made no attempt to move back.

"You're young, there are wonders and pleasures that you haven't experienced. The immortal world of the elves can be so decadent for your kind," he cooed as he trailed a finger down her arm.

"Yeah? So can chocolate cake," Lyra said with a heavy breath as she felt the ever-growing familiar feeling of fog overtaking her mind. With the Woodland Realm cleansed she could now only assume the sensations were emitted from the King himself.

"You resist me," he noted as he brushed the hair from her neck over her shoulder, "your pride is attractive, if not futile." Lyra's eyes squeezed shut as Thranduil's mouth moved to her exposed ear. "Think of it, the power we wield together…the Woodland Realm would thrive. Its borders boundless."

"Then they wouldn't be _woods_ anymore," Lyra replied and was frightened at how shaky her voice sounded. Her fists were clenching tightly behind her, both concealing the ring, and yet feeling its pull as the dark temptations arose.

"The very foundations of Middle Earth would tremble beneath us," he murmered as his lips brushed her neck and trailed down to her shoulder, his free hand wrapping around her back. "Tremble…the way you tremble now."

"Stop," Lyra ordered but the command sounded insincere even to her own ears. He discarded his wine glass to grip her with both hands as his lips claimed hers. Despite the last resolves of her brain that remained untouched by distortion, her body responded and she pulled him tighter against her. Taking her hips firmly, he turned her from the table to lower her onto the bed as he towered over her. His icy touch intensified with the length of him covering her, pressing her hard into the matress.

"Why do you shiver?" he asked as he returned to kissing her neck, his hand drawing the hem of her dress up to grip her knee. "I would not have you fear my touch..."

Lyra's eyes flew open. She'd heard that before…

" _I would not have you be frightened of me…or my touch."_

" _Your touch?" she asked slowly._

" _I would never harm you," Thorin answered, "I would never have you think that, nor would I have you recoil…"_

Drawing her bare knee upward slowly, she took his hand from her leg and pulled it so it rested over her head. "I don't fear your touch, Thranduil," she said and he looked down at her with lust in his eyes, "because after today you'll never touch me again." Before confusion could set in, she pressed her foot against his abdomen and kicked him as hard as she could. The force pushed him off of her and he stumbled to his feet.

Thranduil growled as he charged for her. Lyra sat up and grabbed the only thing within reach, her guitar, and smashed it hard across his face. The fuel of her rage and disgust combined with adrenaline and the energy of the memory of the only man she ever wanted touching her, the guitar splintered into a thousand pieces, the strings snapping, and the bridge cracked in half.

Lyra stood quickly to her feet and looked down at the unconscious form of Thranduil. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she shuddered at the thought of almost giving in to him. Looking at the remains of her guitar and realizing she'd destroyed her last relic of home, she tossed the bridge fragment onto the ground.

"Totally worth it," she spat and kicked the elf in the side for good measure. Holding up her other hand, she noted the ring she still grasped, "and fuck you too!" Tucking it back into her cleavage, she left the room and locked it behind her.

Composing herself to the best of her ability, she walked slowly down the stairs and back amongst the raucous of the party below. She slipped by, barely noticed, as the elves continued their merry-making. Those that did notice her, gave her barely a second glance. The Elven King's earlier announcement marked her off limits. While untouched, she was still unsure of a direction. Spotting the guard whom she'd become familiar with, she nabbed a decanter from the table and approached him.

"I am to meet Thran- my _fiancé_ at the willow tree…uh Loth O'rin? Point me in the direction?" Unwavering in his stoic expression he turned to point to the walkway behind the throne.

"I'll escort you…"

"No!" she snapped. "I mean uh…he wanted me to come alone…you understand?" The guard managed a blush and straightened.

"Take the corridor to the left. Follow the fading trees," he instructed.

"Thank you," Lyra said and took his hand to place the decanter in it. "I think Thranduil has had enough, why don't you enjoy the rest of the evening?" Without waiting for a response, she moved as quickly and subtly as she could in the direction he'd pointed toward the Willow and her escape.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N Look up the amazing song Willow by Jasmine Thompson! One of my favorites that inspired a good portion of this story. Also there is an "M" rating for a reason! I made this chapter extra-long (instead of splitting it into two chapters) because I had an incredible PM and several fantastic reviews. So enjoy! Also, again…M-Rating!**

They'd made it through the toll, but not without difficulty. Having been stored in the barrels once again, they'd been suffocated under a load of fish, been stalked by guards, and forced to climb through a sewage passage in order to arrive at Bard's home.

"How did you know my name?" Bard asked as he and his children handed out dry clothing to them. They'd had the chance to bathe in a contraption they called a shower that poured ice cold water over them, but Thorin couldn't escape the stench of fish. The whole town reeked of it.

"Lyra told me," Bilbo began as the youngest girl, whatever her name was, handed him a bowl of hot wine.

"Who's Lyra?" she asked and her brown eyes couldn't tear away from the funny looking hobbit.

"She-she was… _is_ a friend of ours. Sometimes she knows things that we can't explain," Bilbo replied.

"Does she know my name?" the little girl asked.

"Uh…maybe."

"Where is she now?"

"Tilda, enough questions," Bard instructed and he moved over to Thorin to hand him a mug. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Children are curious by nature, no need for apology," Thorin replied as he drank the warm liquid, savoring the way it filled his belly with heat.

"I was referring to the loss of your companion. Lyra was it?" Thorin looked surprised for a moment before nodding once. "I know that look. I've worn it ever since their mother died. To lose your wife is the greatest of griefs."

"She's not dead," Thorin said but his eyes turned to gaze back out the window, "she'll return…" It was Bard's turn to nod, but he clearly wasn't convinced.

"It's best to remain indoors during the day. The Master of the town will be looking for you."

"We need weapons and provisions," Balin said.

"That'll cost," Bard replied, "the only iron-forged weapons are locked in the armory. It'll take coin to bribe the guards."

"Right then, fork it over lads," Balin instructed and they all emptied their pockets onto the dining room table. Balin cleared his throat as he gave Gloin a hard stare. The reluctant dwarf emptied _both_ his pockets. "Will this do?"

"It will have to," Bard said as he gathered the gold. "Remain here. I'll be back before nightfall. Bain, take your sisters to market and gather enough for dinner and a day's journey. Try to go unseen." The boy nodded and the girls gathered their baskets and coats. "Should you be found in my home, it would bring danger to my family," Bard said to Thorin.

"On my honor, we will not see harm come to you or your kin and you will be well compensated for your aid." The two proud men exchanged a look of finality before the small family swept from the house.

…

It took only minutes for Lyra to find her way back to the Garden of Memory. Whether her haste was propelled by the pursuit of Thorin and her friends or her eagerness to leave behind the King of the 'Can't Keep His Hands to Himself', she didn't know. Either way, it was getting her where she needed to be.

Unlike the rest of the forest, the grove was still dark. Shielded even from the night sky above, there was almost no light. Her feet easily found the dirt pathway and she made her way to the Willow Tree.

"Elbereth?" she whispered hoping it was loud enough for elven ears. "Are you here?" Hearing no reply, she ducked under the hanging branches and toward the trunk to watch the illuminated entrance for her friend. Had it been an hour? Realizing she was still shaking, Lyra sank against the trunk of the tree and pulled her knees up to her chest. It was then she felt something strange.

The bark of the tree was rough but a small section behind her felt oddly smooth. Turning around, she felt along the base. There was definitely something carved there, but without light, unfortunately she couldn't make out what it was. A small smile tugged at her mouth as the sudden words of a song her mother sang to her every night came to mind…the last song she'd ever sang her.

Lyra began humming it softly as she traced the smooth wood with her hand wondering if this particular etching had been something her mother had done. She felt both a connection and an immense longing for her mother in that moment. Had she sat under this very tree and sang?

 _Down by the water, under the willow_ _  
_ _Sits a lone ranger, minding_ _…_

Lyra stopped singing as she swore the very spot on the tree began to glow. The faint light dimmed and vanished the moment she stopped singing. "No way…" she muttered. Was this what her father had meant by singing her mother's song? Looking over her shoulder and not seeing Elbereth yet, Lyra moved to sit on her knees and placed her hand on the trunk of the tree.

 _Down by the water, under the willow_ _  
_ _Sits a lone ranger, minding the willow_ _  
_ _He and his wife, once lived happily_ _  
_ _Planted a seed, that grew through the reeds_ _  
_ _Summers and winters, through snowy Decembers_ _  
_ _Sat by the water close to the embers_ _  
_ _Missing out the lives that they once had before_

 _I wouldn't leave you_ _  
_ _I would hold you_ _  
_ _When the last day comes_ _  
_ _What if you need me_ _  
_ _Won't you hold me_ _  
_ _On the last day, our last day_

The etching was glowing so brightly she could make out the shape of a heart with initials L&R carved into it. Surely this had been something her father, Richard, had done. From the heart, the very sap of the tree began to lighten and as Lyra continued to sing, the entire tree was brightening like a firefly. Drawn to her feet, Lyra moved back as she watched the magic unfold.

 _Mr. & Mrs., dreamed of a willow_ _  
_ _Carving their names, into their willow_ _  
_ _If he had spoken, love would return_ _  
_ _Spoken inside, too soft to be heard_ _  
_ _Summers and winters, through snowy Decembers_ _  
_ _Sat by the water, remembering embers_ _  
_ _Missing out the lives that they once had before_

 _I wouldn't leave you_ _  
_ _I would hold you_ _  
_ _When the last day comes_ _  
_ _What if you need me_ _  
_ _Won't you hold me_ _  
_ _On the last day, our last day_

Now the leaves on the tree were sprouting and the Willow was moving as though a strong wind were swirling. The whole grove was filled with the sound of Lyra's voice, the echo reverberating into the ground and the brown, dead grass became suddenly lush and green.

 _Somewhere the timing will all come together_ _  
_ _The mishaps will turn into sunny Decembers_ _  
_ _The lovers will be able to find their willow_

 _I wouldn't leave you_ _  
_ _I would hold you_ _  
_ _When the last day comes_ _  
_ _I wouldn't leave you_ _  
_ _I would hold you_ _  
_ _When the last day comes_ _  
_ _What if you need me_ _  
_ _Won't you hold me_ _  
_ _On the last day, our last day_

Lyra could feel the soft tears trickling down her cheeks as she kept her eyes focused on the now illuminated tree. The garden around her was once again alive and fragrant flowers sprang forth like they'd been there the whole time. The air crackled with electricity and wisps of golden sparks danced and popped like sparklers. What kept her attention though, was the knot in the center of the Willow and how it suddenly parted as though being opened from the inside and in a nearly blinding hue of gold, out stepped the figure of her mother.

"Lyric," she said stepping onto the grass, her feet leaving tiny yellow flowers in their wake as she stepped toward her daughter.

"Mom?" Lyra asked and without waiting, she rushed forward and her arms wrapped around the beautiful goddess she called mother.

"My darling girl, I knew this day would come," Lathron said pulling away to look down at her daughter. Lyra had never seen her mother this vibrant and full of life. Her sunken eyes were now sparkling and her brittle black hair was a radiant onyx.

"How…" was all she could choke out as emotion clogged her throat. Lathron placed both hands on her daughter's cheeks and before answering, kissed her forehead.

"I am not living, Lyra, not as I was on Coe'dor-Earth."

"But you're here, I'm touching you, you're alive!"

"Child listen," Lathron instructed, her voice as even as still water. "I am of Sindar, the elven Exiles. We can bind our soul but to one thing, and it is here that I have done this. You have learned much in your time here?"

"Yes-yes I think so. I know about Iluvatar and the Ainur…"

"Good," Lathron said stepping to the tree and placing her hand on the trunk. "The Exiles were the last of the Ainur, sworn to carry out the will of Iluvatar no matter the consequences. The forces of the Dark Lord, Melkor, were corrupting both time and song. We could no longer simply fight him off. We had to stretch our forces through the Ages to ensure there would always be one who could rejoin The Great Song. Our line was ending…we made choices that…"

"Mom don't," Lyra said turning her mother back to face her. "I know why you married Thranduil, I understand. It's gross…but I understand."

"Oh my darling," Lathron said smiling and holding her daughter's face again. "I do not regret marrying Thranduil. He was…kind, and brave, and he cared deeply for his people. Had I known I would meet your father, I would have made a more honorable decision. But none of us can see the part we play in The Great Song, we can only sing it."

"Clearly we know a very different Thranduil…"

"Please, I need to finish," Lathron pleaded and Lyra put aside the many insults she was thinking. "My dowry was one of the last six Basins of Emon'di. In Middle Earth, we carry the Lock, the Basins on Earth are the Door and only the daughters of Ainur are the Keys. We unlock the bridge between the two, but it can only be done from this side of the Basin."

"That doesn't make sense, that would mean that someone called me here…"

"Yes, someone did."

"Who? Did…you?"

"I don't know," Lathron admitted.

"How do you not know?" Lyra asked. Her head was beginning to hurt again.

"The Great Song exists throughout all time. In my years living, I have not sung you here. But years in the future…I may."

"So you not only call people from Earth, you call them…throughout time?"

"What is time but one long song?" Lathron asked rhetorically. "We sing songs with verses and chorus, can chorus not repeat just as well as people can repeat the same moment in time?"

"You would know better than me," Lyra said and Lathron placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Mom…you're telling me all of this because you can't come with me…can you?"

"You're smart," Lathron complimented with a sad smile, "just like your father. No my dear. You know the elves must one day sail and be reunited with Valinor?" Lyra nodded, "so has my soul returned to where it belongs. Here…" she said placing a hand back on the Willow.

"This tree is your Valinor?" Lyra asked in disbelief. "That's kind of a crappy deal." Lathron laughed and Lyra felt her heart constrict painfully.

"No my dear. The roots of this Willow run deep. Very deep. Into the foundations of Middle Earth. It is here I will rest. I can finally rejoin The Great Song, thanks to you."

"Because of the song?"

"Yes, I wrote that song when I lived here with your father. I knew that one day, I would need to return to fulfill my destiny, but you see…I couldn't let you die. I looked into the Basin and saw that, had I born you here, you would not have survived. In your father's world, Coe'dor, you would grow to be strong and brave and you would one day be able to decide your destiny just like I did."

"So you left Middle Earth and suffered, because of me?" Lyra was crying again and she had a sense of urgency as though time were growing short between them.

"Suffered? What makes you think I suffered? My darling one, I would face a thousand years of illness, injury, heartache and longing to have you in my arms. You are my Willow, my resting place. In you, I found all the joy and peace I ever needed. Never think for one minute I would choose differently." The two women hugged, the light between them as bright as lightening.

"I love you, I don't know how to thank you for everything," Lyra wept.

"Yes you do," Lathron said once again pulling back to look into her daughter's eyes. "Go and live your life. Join your voice to The Great Song and see Iluvatar's masterpiece fulfilled."

"So I get to stay here? In Middle Earth?"

"If that is your choosing, only you can decide the path your feet walk on."

"And I can love anyone I choose?" Lathron smiled brightly at her daughter and held her face.

"Yes, you can love Thorin Oakenshield." Lyra opened her mouth to ask how she knew that, but Lathron's eyes were suddenly pulled over Lyra's shoulder. She turned to see Elbereth standing in the entrance of the garden looking bewildered. "You must go. Time is short and your quest is not complete. You must find a way to save the Sons of Durin from the fire."

"I don't know how…"

"You will, my darling, trust your heart. On it is written the song you must sing."

"Lyra," Elbereth said as she joined them. "We-you have to go. The light of the garden is filling the halls. The guards are on their way."

"This way," Lathron said and pulled Lyra by the hand to the stone room that contained the statue likeness of her. As though it weighed nothing, Lathron pushed it aside revealing a tunnel. "Take this tunnel, it will join the river. You will need to be strong, the waters run swiftly."

"Here," Elbereth said handing Lyra a long satchel. Lyra looked inside and saw the Singing Bowl, her sword, and another. "Orcrist…a sword of great value, I did not know if yours was this or the ornamented one."

"Thank you. Are you coming?"

"This part of the journey you must make alone," Lathron said and Elbereth looked at her quizzically.

"That's right…I must return to Lord Elrond and bring word of what's transpired, but we will meet again, Lyra. Of this I'm sure."

"The guards are here," Lathron claimed turning to look back at the entrance. "Go my darling, I will hold them off."

"Mom!" Lyra said pleadingly and held onto her hand. "Don't make me say goodbye again…"

"Sweet girl," Lathron said and gently kissed her daughter as she brought her into a tight hug. "This is not goodbye. Not for us. We are Ainur and will _always_ be reunited. Now go," Lathron urged as she pushed her toward the tunnel. "I love you."

"I love you!" Lyra yelled as Lathron moved from the room. "Elbereth, thank you for everything. You've been a great friend."

"You will always have my friendship, Lyric of the Ainur," Elbereth said squeezing her hand. "Please, call me by my true name, the one of my people, the Silvan elves."

"Your true name?" Lyra asked as they began moving the statue back in place.

"Yes, Elbereth is the title Healer in Rivendell, but my name is Tauriel of the Silvan Elves."

"Tauriel, thank you…" Lyra's voice was lost as the stone statue returned to its resting place concealing her inside the tunnel. Elbereth…Tauriel, turned her back to the statue to make her own escape from the grove. The resurrected spirit of Lathron providing distraction enough.

Lathron was walking back up the hill toward the base of the tree where dozens of guards were running looking for their missing prisoner. Raising her hands over her head, Lathron summoned the barren fountains to burst with water. The troughs filled quickly and began overflowing and showers of rain began pouring. From the golden, misty rain stepped Thranduil brandishing a bloody head and sword. He made it ten paces inside the garden before he spotted the Golden Woman.

"Lathron…" he whispered, his sword dropping to the ground. Lathron likewise dropped her arms and silently they moved toward each other. "You…you've…"

"Yes Thranduil," Lathron said gently. "I've returned. You protected me for many years and for that, I will protect the lands of Mirkwood as I promised."

"How are you here…Lyra said that you…."

"Died? Yes well, most people die," Lathron said smirking, "but speaking of my daughter…" Drawing her right fist back, she struck the Elven King in the jaw, the force of the blow taking him off his feet and he landed hard on his back. "I'll be watching, Thranduil. You remember that next time you lay a finger on her." She turned on her heel and walked directly into the base of the tree where it once again absorbed her.

Thranduil lay on his back staring up at the bright foliage. The right side of his face was throbbing from the punch, the left was bleeding from the blow from the guitar. A moment of clarity overtook him for the first time in years…and it only took two blows to the head to cause it.

…

The tunnel was dark, but still humming from the spell she'd cast with her mother's song, Lyra was still shining with her own light. Admittedly, she felt like Tinker Bell as she ran down the stone tunnel in a ball gown glowing like a fairy.

Up ahead she could hear the rushing of water and soon the floor began descending until her feet were splashing on wet ground. The water rose first to her ankles, then knees, and then Lyra was wading through waist deep water. Her next few steps took her feet out from underneath her and the current swept her through the rest of the tunnel and out into the open.

The dwindling night air was nothing compared to the cold water that kept pushing her under. The stars and moon were bright enough to reveal the rapids ahead and Lyra struggled to swim toward the bank with the heavy satchel, but she refused to part with it. She'd already lost her pack in the mountains, most of her items in the woods, and her guitar to the side of Thranduil's head, no way in hell was she losing the last items she had of value.

The rapids were quickening and the banks of the river were growing higher. Lyra felt rocks tearing at her feet and shins. She was able to turn her body so she was floating feet first to try to prevent serious injury, but as the current kept pushing her under, breathing became more difficult. Before she could do anything to avoid it, a strong undertow pulled her underwater and the world spun around her.

 _In the distance the cinders of Lake Town still smoldered, but the earth thundered with the footfalls of five-thousand orcs. They poured through the demolished gate of Erebor like a splintered dam. From the West a second army approached. Atop brown wargs, an army of goblins led by the Goblin King, charged toward the valley floor. Then like screeching cockroaches, from behind the goblins farther to the North, the ground came alive with the black legs of giant spiders._

 _Dark clouds swirled overhead blotting out any light of the sun. Through the storm and crackling lightening, the black wings and golden belly of the dragon Smaug tore through the air. His frightening roar turned into pillar of fire…_

" _Lyra…."_

Her eyes shot open and her body twisted as she struggled against the current to make it to the surface. In a brief moment of clarity, she could see through the rippling water a figure swimming toward her. In shock and panic, she screamed, her voice nothing more than bubbled lost in the rapids, but a hand took hold of her and she was pulled through the water until she was clamoring onto shore.

"Who are you?" Lyra snapped as she dragged her soaking wet body up the embankment. Finally able to wipe the water from her face she rolled onto her back and saw her savior was still chest deep in the rapids. Standing as though the current around her were no more than a gentle breeze, was Goldenberry. "What-how are you here?"

"I've been keeping my eye on you, daughter of Iluvatar," she replied in her easy tone. Her long hair was loose and flowing in the waves around her like a golden, wet halo. "I entrusted the Singing Bowl with you, but as you see visions in song, like my mother, the River-Woman, I see them in water."

"Then you saw the destruction of Erebor and Lake Town just now?" Goldenberry's answer was a sternness of face that Lyra hated. Her normally soft and doll-like appearance looked alarmingly rigid and angry.

"Do not believe the din," she advised. "There are forces that sense you are close to achieving your task. They will do all they can to dissuade you. Stay your course, Lyra."

"How can I stay the course, Goldenberry? You saw what's about to happen! Gandalf didn't kill the Goblin King like before, so now he will march his entire army on the gate. Thorin provoked the Spiders to save me and now _they_ are joining in on top of the orcs that are already marching. My being here has done nothing but make more enemies for Thorin!" Her voice was shrill and sharp, her fear laced in every word.

"Lyra," Goldenberry said sympathetically as she began walking out of the water, her yellow dress now a saturated orange. She knelt on the ground at Lyra's feet and placed a comforting hand on her leg. "You have made enemies, yes. Like the throwing of a stone into water, your presence has caused ripples that grow larger by the minute. But you also have friends and your being here is a great force of Good. Do not forget that." The way Goldenberry's green eyes stared into hers was so steady and penetrating, that for a moment, the world around them lost all sound and the connection the two women shared felt as ancient as the ground beneath them.

"I won't." Lyra promised. Goldenberry smiled, her expression returning to its former jovial kindness. Standing from her crouched position, Goldenberry waded back into the water and Lyra watched with fascination as she began to disappear, quite literally, under the water.

Turning back for one final moment, Goldenberry said with an unwavering confidence, "Do not be frightened of evil, Lyra. It is evil that is frightened of _us_."

Lyra stared after the spot in the river Goldenberry had disappeared at for a long moment. Her heart was racing and there was no way for her to distinguish a single thought amidst all of the swarming memories of the last few hours. It took more mental energy than physical for her to stand to her feet and begin walking down river.

It was useless to try to wring her dress out, the fabric cascaded in so many layer of sheer folds, the only thing that would dry it is time. Her feet squished inside of her boots and even though the air was crisp, it made more sense for her to walk barefoot than to risk waterlogging her feet.

Only a few hundred feet from where she'd been pulled to shore, Lyra sat on top of a hill that overlooked the river and pulled off her boots and socks. Tucking them under one arm, she stood once again and froze. Without noticing the approach, she could feel the tip of a sword pressed into her back. It was then she saw the pile of orc bodies at the bottom of the hill. They'd caught up.

….

"These were all I could manage," Bard said as he unwrapped the cloth bundle on the table. The crudely made swords and axes were forged by amateurs at best and clearly hadn't been sharpened in ages.

"Is your smithy blind or just daft?" Dwalin asked as he took hold of the unbalanced two-handed axe. "These weapons are rubbish."

"Our blacksmith spends his days making fishhooks and repairing nets, I'm afraid his skills in weaponry are lacking," Bard explained.

"We'll never take down a dragon with these, Thorin," Balin said echoing the thoughts of all the dwarves who were beginning to feel the weight of defeat sink in.

"You never said anything about a dragon," Bard interjected. "Surely you don't mean to enter that mountain!"

"Enter it, and reclaim it," Thorin replied. "I am Thorin son of Thrain and we are the dwarves of Erebor."

"You're mad," Bard protested. "It is only by luck that we have survived in the shadow of that mountain while the dragon slumbers."

"How long do you think that luck will last?" Thorin asked with a tone of challenging. From the doorway, Bard's children looked on and the other dwarves kept silent as the two men faced off. "Sooner or later that dragon _will_ awaken, stronger and more powerful than before; maybe not in your lifetime, or in your children's, but what of their children?"

"That dragon cannot be killed. Its scales are like armor and hide like steel. No weapon can pierce it…"

"What about the black arrow?" Bain, Bard's son, said from the doorway. "Da' we still have the black arrows."

"Hush son…"

"Black arrows?" Thorin asked as he came around the table. "How came you by these?" Bard looked from his son back to Thorin and hesitantly replied.

"An old and useless family relic…" Bard began but Bain interrupted.

"My father is the descendent of Girion, Lord of Dale! A hero!"

"You are Girion's descendent?" Thorin asked as he uncrossed his arms and stepped toward the taller man.

"Bain take your sisters to Madam Etry's," Bard instructed.

"But Da'…"

"Now!"

"Come on," Sigrid, the eldest daughter said as she gathered her two siblings and they went down the stairs and out the front door.

"They know better than to say that name in this house," Bard muttered as he grabbed the tarp from the table and began folding it for the simple purpose of keeping his hands busy and his eyes off of Thorin.

"You should be proud of your great-great grandfather," Balin interjected. "I knew Girion, he was a good man."

"I'm sorry, who's Girion?" Bilbo asked from his seat in the window. The dank air from outside had crept into the home and as the scene unfolded before him, he could feel the tension as heavy as the mist on the lake.

"Girion was the last Lord of Dale before…"

"Before he failed to kill the Beast and was struck down, forever writing in history the failure of my lineage!" Bard snapped as he slammed his hands on the table. "Since I was born I have carried the weight of knowing my ancestor is the single cause for nearly two hundred years of suffering. Had Girion succeeded that day in striking down the dragon…"

"It was not Girion alone who failed," Thorin said standing on the opposite end of the table as Bard. "I also have lived the last two hundred years reliving that day a thousand times. Girion fought bravely when all others fled. It was Dale alone that stood with Esgaroth and Erebor. I watched as he fired his black arrows at the heart of the Beast, chipping away at its scales. Had he the time to take his final shot, his aim would have proven true."

"I have heard the story and lived with the heirloom like a shackle on the destiny of my family," Bard said as he reached to the canopy over the table and removed the long, black iron shaft and set it on the table with a heavy thud.

With the clattering sound an even harsher silence fell over the room. The faces of the dwarves was solemn as they stared at the arrow. While impressive in its craft, it was hard to believe that had this one solitary weapon served its purpose, the world as they'd known it would have been completely different. How many lives could one arrow have saved?

"We are not our ancestors," Thorin spoke in a commanding voice, drawing all eyes to him. "Our forefathers may have fallen to dragon, orc, or madness, but we-their sons- are _not_ them." He reached forward and took the arrow from the table. "I have come to restore to glory the lost city of my people. Take up your own arms, stand with us, and bring back the honor of Girion and the city of Dale. Stand with us, and I swear to you, all will share in the riches of the Mountain."

"I care nothing of riches or that cursed gold."

"Then think of your children. Would you pass on the shame that you've born? Would you leave them to fight the same battle you were too afraid to face?" Bard turned and stared hard at Thorin who slowly extended the blunt end of the arrow to him. "Stand with us. Help us restore what our fathers have lost."

Bard hesitated before shifting his body and gripping the arrow, for a moment both men held an end each, "I will help you. But we'll need to face one more serpent before Smaug…"

"Who might that be?" Bilbo asked inquisitively.

"The Master of Lake Town."

…

"Don't move." Lyra was ordered, however she sighed in relief as the voice that commanded her was not the gruff snarl of an orc, but the smooth lilt of an elf. "Turn around." Lyra did as she was told, hands held high in the air.

"Legolas?" she asked when she met the eyes of the bow-wielding captor. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you. Last I heard, you were a guest of my father's."

"I don't suppose you'd believe that he let me go?" she asked as she slowly lowered her hands. Legolas raised an eyebrow and pulled a little tighter on the bowstring. "Didn't think so…" she sighed. "Legolas, you have to let me go. Everything I told you was true, wasn't it? The spiders were infesting the woods, a pack of orcs was tracking us. That dragon _will_ awaken and if you don't let me go, Smaug is going to kill everyone. He won't stop with Lake Town."

"What's to say that you are not the one that will waken him?" Legolas asked. From behind him several more elves stepped from the tree line and watched their leader confront the escaped prisoner.

"Fine, don't believe me about the dragon, but I can promise you, there is more coming," Lyra said harshly as she stepped toward him. "You've just come from patrol right? Then my guess is you can sense it." The reluctance in Legolas's eyes confirmed her suspicion. "Black spiders are on the hunt. An army of goblins from the Misty Mountains is ready to march. Orcs are already on their way. All manner of evil is gathering to that mountain and you want to prevent, perhaps, the only people in this world that stand for good that are trying to do something about it!"

"I've heard enough," Legolas said lowering his bow. "Bring me a cloak, our guest is cold," he ordered and one of the elven soldiers removed hers and extended it to the Prince. Legolas glowered down at her as he wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. "You'll need this, it's a long walk."

"Damnit Legolas, let me go!" she yelled as she pulled back from him. The corner of his mouth turned upward slightly as he pressed his hand abruptly against her shoulder and she stumbled backwards. The hard push sent her backwards, and from the top of the hill, she lost her footing and tumbled backwards. Rolling several times, she came to halt on her stomach, inches away from the dead body of an orc. She rolled to her back away from it to look back up the hill at Legolas who was holding his arm out to prevent the other elves from pursuing.

"This hill marks the edge of the Woodland Realm," Legolas said loudly. "Lyra is beyond our borders now. You know how my father gets when it comes to anything outside of his dominion. Leave her," he stated and the other elves seemed to be torn between confusion and amusement. When Lyra realized what he'd done she smiled up at him and collected herself as she stood.

One by one the elves turned and walked back toward Mirkwood leaving only Legolas at the peak. He smiled softly and nodded toward the direction of the mountain. They exchanged a look of mutual respect before Lyra turned and ran along the bank of the river where she could make out the silhouette of Lake Town in the early morning hours.

…

"Tilda don't touch that," Sigrid scolded her little sister. The three siblings were wandering the aisles of Madam Etry's curiosity shop as their father had instructed. Madam Etry was one of Bard's oldest friends, having grown up with his mother on the banks of the Lake. After Bard's mother passed, she took on role of surrogate grandmother and was a frequent sitter when Bard was out on his barge or transporting wares with the elves. The older woman had long gray hair she kept knotted under a cap and the wrinkles around her eyes were deep set. At the present, she was showing Bain a toy soldier atop a wooden horse, they were laughing as she pretended to make it charge knocking down a stack of books Sigrid moved to help pick up.

Tilda ignored her sister's reprimand and went back to playing with the dolls. Her particular favorite was a longhaired doll wearing a shining gold gown and matching slippers. She gently stroked its hair, marveling at its green eyes and wishing she had a pretty dress like that one.

At the clamoring sound of footsteps outside the window, Tilda looked up, her eyes going wide, as she saw a real life princess! Her brown hair was a mess of waves and curls, clearly having been swept by the wind and coming cold. Her gold and silver gown was dirty, but the gems sparkled like magic and she had green eyes, just like the doll!

"Sigrid, Sigrid it's a real princess!" Tilda cried. Having heard her small voice, the woman turned to look in the window and her frantic expression softened as she saw the child. Stepping through the open door, Sigrid, Bain, Tilda and Madam Etry met her.

"Not from around these parts," Madam Etry said observing her from foot to head. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a group of dwarves, and a hobbit-a Halfling. Have you seen them?"

"Dwarves, around these parts? Not for over a century," Madam Etry said crossing her arms over her chest, her maternal protective instincts kicking in.

"Are you a princess?" Tilda asked as she gently reached for the fabric of her dress. Sigrid, once again, slapped her hand away and the brown-haired woman knelt to look her in the eye.

"No, I'm not a princess, but I'm looking for a King. His name is Thorin and he might be with a man named Bard. Can you help me find him?"

"What do you want with Bard?" Sigrid snapped, pulling her sister away. The woman rose to her feet and looked them over with an observing look in her eye.

"I mean no harm, I am just trying to be reunited with my companions. I've been running all day…"

"Are you Lyra?" Tilda asked as she struggled out of her sister's grasp.

"How-how do you know my name?" the woman, Lyra, asked perplexed.

"You're the woman who made the dwarf sad," Tilda spoke.

"You've seen the dwarves," Lyra said looking at them with her own wide-eyed expression. "You're Bard's children! Please, I am a friend. You have to take me to them."

"They've been with the Master all day," Bain spoke up. "We can take you to the main hall," he offered. Lyra smiled, her relief evident.

"Please, please do!"

…

Thorin stood on the small plank balcony overlooking the city, the mountain looming in the distance. The sun was well into its descent. It would be nightfall soon. The others were being outfitted for armor downstairs. It had been remarkably easy to convince the Master to support their quest. A promise of gold was all it took to persuade. Bard was the likely hero. Him and his black arrow. But still, being equipped with food, weapons, armor and a boat were needed.

Staring blankly at the mountain, he was amazed at the duality of the feeling of both anticipation, determination…and sadness. So many memories of what it had once been, what it could be again, and the woman he desperately wanted with him. Balin had advised him to hold on to both, but there was only one direction to go. The quest was so engrained in him, he knew he couldn't abandon for anything or anyone. Yet the pangs of his heart endured.

There was a soft rapping at the door. Behind him a steaming bath had been prepared with a large spread of food including fish, bread, ale, potatoes and cheese. Knowing it was likely another servant come to bring him towels, Thorin tore himself away from the overlook and moved to the door, his bare feet padding on the wood, and opened it.

Yet standing in the doorway, with three large towels in hand was no servant. Her green eyes were already wet with tears; her hair was wild with unbraided curls still ornamented with jewels. Her gown was soaked with mud from the knee down, her elven cloak was askew, and her face was flushed red, but it was the unmistakable woman he'd been terrified of never seeing again.

"Room service," she breathed as she stared intently into his eyes. Out of shock, he stepped back, and she entered, closing the door behind her. "Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked with a moment flicker of panic on her face. Knocking the towels out of her hand, he took her by the waist and slammed her against the door simultaneously taking her lips with his.

Lyra gasped against his mouth, but eagerly responded; grabbing him around the neck as he slightly lifted her off the ground, their bodies pressed firmly against the door. The hunger and passion between them returned like cinders in a fire being fanned into flame. Their previous restraint was all but forgotten as their hands clawed and pawed at one another, eager for every inch of what they could grab.

Lyra dug her fingers into his hair, the thick tresses tangling easily in her hands. His harsh, desperate kiss, stole the breath from her, his hands gripping her sides so firmly, her breathing became more difficult. Pressing her hips into his, frantic to feel his form against her, his hands trailed their way up to her neck and face. Begrudingly, he parted the kiss to press his forehead against hers to stare into her eyes.

"How?" was all he could ask. Lyra smiled as she stroked his chest through his shirt, the hard feel of his muscles making her face grow flush.

"It's kind of a long story," she said softly. "I…I want to tell you everything…but…"

Sensing her anxiety, Thorin made a shushing noise he took her by the hands and led her farther into the room. "Here," he said setting her on the edge of the bed and fetching her a glass of ale. She took a long drink and he knelt in front of her, his hands shamelessly taking her knees. "You're exhausted," he observed and Lyra nodded.

"You're not an easy man to keep up with," she said trying to tease, but the fatigue reached her eyes. "It took fast talking to bypass the Master and his attendant just to come directly to see you. They wanted to question me…" They both chuckled and Thorin stroked her legs as she easily finished the glass and set it aside.

"Lyra…I'm so sorry…"

"Don't!" she protested as she pressed a hand to his mouth. "I don't want to talk about anything right now. I just want to be here, right now, with you." Rising from his knees he kissed her again and she pulled him on top of her as they lay back on the bed. The feel of his full form on top of her lit sparks on her skin and her hands found their way under his shirt to feel the muscles in his back. They tensed beneath her touch and likewise Thorin's hands explored her long abdomen, eventually braving the touch of her soft chest over the bust of her gown.

His firm grip elicited a sharp intake of breath as he reveled in the suppleness beneath his fingers. Her hips bucked against his, her body clearly responding. Savoring the moment, he pressed his pelvis back into hers, his body growing warm and as his length began to grow firm, he then lifted himself onto his forearms to look down at her. Lyra's eyes were glazed and dilated with desire. Her longing for him gave him a sense of pride that made the blood hot through his veins.

"Lyra," he said gazing down at her, "you should rest," he said reluctantly as he stood. "Recover yourself. Then I want to hear everything of what happened in the Woodland Realm." Lyra nodded. She obviously didn't want to discuss the topic at the present, so he would grant her the evening for solace. It was the least he could do after... "Take this room, there's tub and food ready." Again Lyra nodded. Kissing her forehead and stepping away, the immediate longing of her warmth hitting him, he made toward the door.

"Thorin?" she asked, the delicious sound of his name coming from her lips drew him to look back at her. She rose to her feet and walked toward him. Taking his hand in hers, her eyes looked up at him with pleading, "you can stay…" his eyebrow rose, "stay."

His rigid posture softened and he likewise nodded, locking the door before he turned fully toward her. He first stroked her cheek, her face turning into his calloused hand and kissing his palm. Trailing down her neck to the exposed skin of her chest, she turned so her back was to him and she pulled her hair over one shoulder. The clasp of the dress was visible and his large fingers fumbled with it for a moment before he unhooked the back and drew the zipped slowly down.

Lyra took a sharp breath as Thorin's fingers grazed a long line down her back, the skin slowly being exposed to him. Her heart was racing as he tenderly pushed the single strap of her dress off her shoulder and down her arm. The dirty fabric fell easily to the floor, her bare back now fully visible to him. Only the white cotton undergarments concealed her lower half from hip to thigh. She shivered when his soft lips and gruff beard met the back of her neck, his hands winding around her front to her stomach.

Reaching behind her to take hold of his neck, encouraging him to kiss anywhere he chose, his hands hesitantly moved upward until they each took hold of a single, heavy breast. Her back arched and he pressed his chest more firmly against her as he squeezed and caressed the soft tissue. His desire pulsing in him. She turned in his arms to face him, their lips once again meeting in a more tender and slow burning kiss.

Her form fit so naturally against him, he wondered how he had gone so long without feeling her fully. The dip in her waist was a perfect handle as he pulled her tightly, her chest pressing against his, her full hips digging in as her left leg snaked around his. He brought a hand back to cup her breast, the soft skin of her nipple coming to a full peak between his fingers, and her nails dug into his neck.

"Don't stop," she pleaded in his ear when his mouth left hers to replace his fingers on the rosy pearl. The throbbing in his trousers threatened to take over as the last resolves of his brain worked to sober him. Rising fully, he scooped Lyra into his arms, her short cry of alarm making him smile. Without hesitation, he plopped her firmly into the tub that splashed water onto the floor. "Thorin!" she shrieked and he managed to laugh before silencing her with a strong kiss.

"Lyra, my treasured one," he said sitting on the side of the tub, his eyes unashamedly staring at her gorgeous breasts, his hand stroking the skin. "There are countless and immeasurable things I intend to do to you," now it was her turn to arch an eyebrow, "all of which I will detail in full…once you've rested."

"Tease," she scolded with mock narrowed eyes. Sitting up in the tub, she stroked his thigh, fully aware of the hardness that was forming. "Don't leave," she requested and Thorin's eyes darkened with lust. He didn't even bother nodding, his eyes conveyed the 'yes' his dry mouth couldn't speak. With a crooked smile, he pulled his shirt over his head and without a care at all for the mess he was making, slid into the tub behind her. Lyra laughed, her back now fit against his chest. Thorin took the bar of soap and lathered it on his hands before gently massaging it into her shoulders. She made a humming noise, her body fully pressing backward. "Thorin…" she said feeling the warmth of the water and her desire.

"Yes, mein Anan?" he cooed, unable to believe the reality of the woman in his arms, his strong hands bathing her skin.

"I missed you," she spoke shortly.

"Aye," he repeated and kissed her ear. "You'll never have to miss me again."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N Hey guess what? This story is rated M! Please review!**

"That's your plan?" Bard asked breaking the long silence that had preceded his question. At the long table in the main room of the Master's Hall, Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Lyra, Bilbo, Bard, the Master and his associate Alfrid all sat over lunch the next day discussing the best course of action to seize the Lonely Mountain. Presently, seven faces were gaping at Lyra.

"Personally I think it's a good plan," Lyra defended as she folded her hands on the table. Thorin sat across from her, his blue eyes beaming.

"You think something as simple as lighting bonfires will be enough to deter the dragon?" Bard asked again. His tone conveyed his frustration.

"Not deter him, distract him," Lyra corrected. "Listen, you're the ones that refuse to evacuate the city…"

"Where would we go?" Alfrid interrupted.

"Dale is an option," Balin suggested.

"The _ruins_ of Dale, yes fantastic idea. Why don't we all just go for a dip in the Lake as it freezes while we're at it," Alfrid said sarcastically.

"You say you must enter the mountain before sunset tomorrow. We'd never evacuate in time," the Master chimed in, his corn-yellow hair was balding badly and his vain attempt to comb it over only heightened the egg shape of his head.

"Agreed, had we not been delayed in Mirkwood we would have gotten here sooner to warn you. The Lass at least has an idea that is plausible," Dwalin added and Lyra gave him a look of appreciation. At the mention of Mirkwood, Thorin's expression hardened and Lyra adverted her eyes. They still hadn't had a chance to talk. Not that Lyra was complaining. She'd had the best bath of her life and when exhaustion had overtaken her, she'd spent the rest of the night sleeping in the arms of the dwarf across the table from her.

"I suggest we have two decoys set up," Lyra continued. Using the quill on the table and the map of Lake Town the Master had provided, she drew two X's, one on either side of the Lake. "You'll need two small contingents, no more than fifteen men each. We can start by lighting the eastern lamps and fires, keep them burning throughout the day to get a strong smoke scent…"

"We'll need to extinguish the ones in the village," Bard commented. It seemed he was finally coming around to the idea.

"And you'll need to keep everyone inside, if you have bunkers now would be the time to use them," Thorin agreed.

"We have root cellars at best," the Master answered.

"That'll have to do," Balin advised, "the women and children should be kept safe at all costs."

"You're waking a dragon, none of us are safe," Alfrid muttered before he finished his drink and eyed Dwalin's next to him.

"Bard you're going to have to be the one to take the shot," Lyra stated as she met his eyes. She'd been prepared for Bard's reluctance, but she hadn't anticipated how attractive he'd be. His curly black hair, olive skin and his yellow eyes gave him an exotic look at contracted the pale and blotchy skin of the other Lake Town residents. His salt and pepper beard was trimmed immaculately and his lean form was easily over six foot. He had large hands that gripped the edge of the table. He hadn't so much as bothered to sit during the discussion, let alone eat.

"I've only the one arrow," he said holding her gaze with hesitancy and reluctance.

"You only need one," Lyra said confidently. He smiled softly at her and she hoped her faith in him was enough to give Bard faith in himself.

"We've got two wind lances left, one on the north shore and one on the eastern," the Master said pointing to the locations on the map.

"You'll be hard pressed to fire from them if the idea is to keep Smaug away from the village," Dwalin stated as he stroked his beard. "Can the arrow be fired from bow?"

"From a bow, you ask?" Alfrid said in his whining tone. Lyra didn't know what was greasier, his hair, face, or personality. "You can't fire a black arrow from a bow, 'ave you seen one? Fire it from a bow, you've gone mad…"

"I can do it," Bard interjected cutting off the useless ramblings. "I have my father's longbow back at my barge."

"You're sure of this?" Thorin asked in his gravelly tone.

"Give me a shot, and I can bring him down," Bard agreed and the two men nodded to one another.

"Then we'd best set to work," the Master said but made no move to stand from his oversized chair. "Alfrid, see to it that the guards are well equipped to light the bonfires on the signal."

"Yes of course Master, you've come up with an excellent plan. Truly your name will go down in history as the bravest and wisest of men in this dark hour." Lyra rolled her eyes as she stood with the others. As they exited the chambers to the front foyer, Bard stopped in front of Thorin and Lyra.

"I do not know if I believe what you say," he began as he looked down at Lyra, his gentle voice contrasting his rugged appearance, "the visions you've seen in your magic bowl," he continued, "do they speak of my children? Will they be safe?"

"All three of your children live and grow to a ripe old age," Lyra stated and she hoped it was still true, "if we succeed in bringing down the dragon, Esgaroth will prosper like never before. The city of Dale will be rebuilt and you will become King."

"I've no desire for a crown…"

"That's what makes you worthy," Lyra interrupted and Bard gave her another soft smile.

"Save a seat at the feast this evening, my daughter Tilda can speak of nothing but the beautiful princess she found wandering the streets." Lyra chuckled and nodded her agreement. They walked Bard out of the Longhouse and watched as he made his way back home.

Lake Town had come alive in the last twenty-four hours. Rumors of dwarves had turned into sightings, sightings into discoveries, and discoveries had resulted in the Master making a speech before the whole town declaring his support for the quest of Erebor.

Now the citizens were hanging banners and ribbons from every balcony, their cheers were constant and just at the sight of Thorin, several people began to gather. Lyra stepped away from him and Thorin did his best to fend off the onslaught of women who flocked around him like moths to a flame. Laughing as she watched him try to respectfully decline several kisses, Lyra made her way back inside.

She'd requested parchment and was glad to see it sitting waiting for her in the sitting room of the Hall. Taking Goldenberry's advise, Lyra sat and began writing a letter to Lord Elrond and the White Counsel. One last attempt to seek assistance.

"You've got some nerve!" Looking up from her letter she smiled from ear to ear as Fili, Kili, Bofur and Gloin marched toward her. They'd clearly been outfitted in new armor and weapons and they looked well rested. Rising to her feet, Lyra was immediately pulled into a hug that lifted her off her feet and Kili swung her around.

"I spent a whole five minutes worrying about you," he said as he set her down on her feet only for her to be swept up into Fili's arms.

"I spent _six_ minutes grieving your loss, we thought you were dead!"

"Wow six minutes, how did you survive?" Lyra laughed and kissed Gloin and Bofur each on the cheek when she'd found her footing again. The blushing dwarves were all smiles.

"We didn't, you've broken our hearts! You didn't even bother coming to find us when you arrived!" Kili practically shouted, but his eyes were full of mirth.

"Well running from sunup to sundown wore me out," Lyra defended and Fili wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Obviously not worn out _enough_ ," Kili muttered but Lyra heard.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked at the veiled insinuation.

"Oh nothing, nothing," Kili replied with a wave of his hand.

"We just heard Uncle Thorin got you all to himself last night," Fili elaborated, "… _all_ night." Lyra saw the looks the brothers were exchanging and Bofur and Gloin were stifling their laughter.

"Oh excuse me!" Lyra said pulling away from Fili to point a finger in his face, "I'll have you know, your Uncle and I did…"

"Please, please!" Fili interrupted, "I don't want details."

"Whatever it was, Uncle Thorin has been all smiles today."

" _Nothing_ I was going to say _nothing_!" Lyra practically shrieked.

"Good then it's settled," Kili said crossing his arms, "she'll say nothing about it."

"No, we _did_ nothing!" Lyra protested, her face red with blush and frustration.

"Can hardly expect her to kiss and tell," Kili said to Fili.

"Right, she may be Uncle Thorin's bedfellow, but she's still a lady," Fili said to Kili.

"Bedfe- I'm going to murder you," Lyra growled and swung at Fili. The two brothers clutched one another with laughter as Gloin and Bofur each took one of her arms to hold her back. "Dress or not, I'll remind you I can still beat you two senseless simultaneously!" she yelled at them as the Princes fled from arms reach.

"Aye never mind their teasing, Lass," Gloin spoke up, "we were all very worried about you. It was a brave thing you did rescuing us from the Fairy Dungeon, how did you escape?"

"Through the tunnels that run under the gardens," she answered as her arms were released, but her glare was still fixated. "They met up with the river and I followed your trail. Nice work with the orcs, by the way," she complimented.

"Didn't Thranduil notice?" Bofur asked and Lyra hesitated before she answered. While she knew she owed Thorin a full explanation, there were certain things she was loath to share with the others. Especially the two _Imps_.

"I'm sure he did when he woke up," Lyra replied, "I took him off guard and gave my guitar a final performance over the side of his head." The dwarves hooted and laughed, Fili jostling her shoulders.

"I would have risked all of Mirkwood to see that!" Kili declared.

"Bet the poor Fairy cried!" Gloin roared.

"Did it break?" They all turned to see Bilbo and Thorin standing behind them clearly having reentered the Hall and into their conversation. Lyra's smile sobered and she felt, for the first time, a heavy longing for her shattered instrument.

"Yes," she answered Bilbo shortly with a nod. They all quieted as they sensed her sadness. Bilbo's eyes were full of sympathy. "Not nearly as broken as Thranduil's pride though," she added bringing on another round of laughter as she intentionally lightened the mood. Even Thorin broke into a smile. Apparently the same one he'd been wearing _all day_.

"Come on lads, we've got food waiting and we've got to get the boats ready before the feast tonight," Gloin said clapping both Bofur and Kili on the back.

"Don't disappear!" Fili said pointing at Lyra.

"Yeah, we're done worrying about you, Aunty" Kili added and in a picturesque moment, they both stooped to simultaneously kiss her on both her cheeks, one dwarf on each side. She smiled and returned the gesture as she waved them off. They darted in between the many servants and guards that were hurrying around seeing to the decorations and feast preparations. The Master had insisted on a farewell party. A likely campaign strategy, but from the humble position of needing help, they felt unable to refuse.

"The first of many details," Thorin said moving to wrap an arm around Lyra's waist. She forced a smile as she looked up at him. "I don't like that you're keeping things from me…" he said quietly.

"I'm not intentionally," she said wrapping her arms around him in return, "I mean to tell you everything, but first I need to speak with Bilbo." Thorin frowned and Lyra rested her hands on his chest. "Thorin, please? Trust me," she pleaded. He didn't reply but his expression softened. Standing on her toes she kissed the corner of his mouth and moved toward Bilbo who was standing near the staircase waiting for her.

"Not so fast," Thorin said pulling her back. Lyra couldn't help her giggle as he drew her into a kiss. Clearly they were long past hiding their affection. Not that it was much of a secret anyway, apparently. Their kiss was brief, but his grip on her sides, their forms so tightly pressed together, was enough to make her lightheaded. Looking into his eyes, Lyra could see the fire that burned in him. Biting her lip, flashes of their evening together came rushing back.

Ever the gentleman, Thorin had shown great restraint in the tender way he'd massaged her shoulders and allowed her to soak in the warm water. Despite her burning desire, her body was spent. When she'd started to drift to sleep, he'd gathered her in his arms and laid her on the bed. Without being provided dressing clothes, she used one of the shirts and breaches they'd given Thorin and Lyra had laughed as Thorin gingerly turned his back allowing her privacy to change. He'd tucked her into bed before changing into dry clothes, Lyra offering him the same courtesy of privacy, before he slipped under the heavy blanket and pulled her against his chest. She'd fallen asleep listening to his steady heartbeat.

The slow buildup of their exploration of each other was dangerously close to the brink. Much like their quest for the Mountain, they were riding the waves of anticipation. Thorin was a man. Lyra was a woman. Neither seemed shy in expressing their desire for the other at this point. It was evident in the way he smiled down at her, his thumbs brushed the top of her ribcage just under the curve of her breasts.

Kissing him again briefly, she gave him a look of longing before turning and meeting Bilbo at the bottom of the staircase. The Hobbit was intently inspecting the rafters overhead. She could still feel Thorin's eyes on her as they made their way upstairs to the porch-like balcony where they'd agreed to meet.

"I am relieved to see you," Bilbo began as they sat at one of the small tables, "we were all very worried. I wasn't sure you'd be able to escape on your own."

"I wasn't sure either," Lyra agreed. A servant was kind enough to bring them food and wine. Lyra, having already eaten, was glad enough to enjoy a glass while Bilbo ate. When the servant left, Lyra reached into the fold of her green dress and carefully extended her closed fist. Knowing exactly what she was offering, Bilbo looked around to make sure no one was watching before he accepted it.

"Did it serve you well?" he asked as he pocketed the ring.

"I didn't use it," she said and felt a pang in her chest as the ring was suddenly gone from her. It felt like relief and regret all at once.

"Ah I see…"

"Bilbo you must promise me to be very careful with that ring," Lyra said. She'd gone over it a hundred times in her mind. She knew the ring was drawing her to take it for herself. Tempting her to try to be the one to destroy it. But if that's what the ring wanted, then she was going to do the opposite. There was a reason for Bilbo to have it. Hobbits desired neither wealth nor power. It's what made them so perfect to bear the ring.

"What do you mean?"

"There are many rings of power in this world, but always remember, you serve them…they do not serve you. One day, you must promise me that you'll give it away. To a nephew."

"I-I don't have any neph…"

"Not yet," Lyra interjected, "but you will. You'll have a nephew named Frodo. You'll share the same birthday and you'll be very close. He'll love you like a father. Promise me. On your one hundred eleventh birthday, you'll give Frodo the ring."

"One hundred and eleven!" Bilbo said laughing but his face turned serious when he saw Lyra wasn't joking. "There's more you're not telling me."

"There's a million things I'm not telling you," Lyra agreed. "Just promise me." She reached across the table to take his hands in hers.

"I promise Lyra. Should I live to one hundred eleven and have a nephew named Frodo, I will give him the ring." She smiled and he squeezed her hands. Their tender moment was interrupted as a raucous erupted below them. Both Bilbo and Lyra stood to walk to the railing as they heard hoof beats on the boardwalk and the cries of people who noted the arriving company.

Lyra felt her mouth drop open as she saw the long chain of the seventy plus men, all clad in gold cloaks led by a tall man who's dark blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail. His face was now sporting a beard, but it was still recognizable to her. He pulled his horse to a stop at the bottom of the staircase at the front of the Hall and his guards halted behind him.

"Who is that?" Bilbo asked as he noted her look of recognition.

"Brynmund!" Lyra shouted and the Ranger's brown eyes searched momentarily before landing on her. His brilliant smile that stretched from ear to ear was the same as she remembered. Dismounting and holding the reins in one hand, Brynmund bowed and looked back up at her.

"My Lady Lyra," he called up to her in return. Downstairs the dwarves, including Thorin, as well as the Master and Alfrid all exited the Hall to see what the commotion was. Brynmund looked from Lyra to them. She turned from the balcony and ran as quickly as she could down the stairs and out the front entrance past the Master, past the dwarves and past Thorin. Running directly toward him, Brynmund caught her in a tight hug as she launched herself off the last step.

"What are you doing here?" she asked pulling away. With her back turned she couldn't see the glare that Thorin was casting. Brynmund was beaming down at her, his brown eyes as warm and friendly as ever.

"I've come to offer the aid of the Western Rangers in the destruction of Smaug," Brynmund answered loudly for all to hear. Lyra's eyebrows furrowed. Before she could even ask, Brynmund pulled the leather bound book from his pocket and extended it to her. Taking it in her hands, it took Lyra a moment to remember the feel of the very book that was responsible for her arrival in Middle Earth.

"You…you read it?" she asked and looked back up at him.

"I did," Brynmund answered honestly. "Now, let's kill that dragon."

…

If the residents of Lake Town hadn't been beside themselves with elation before, they certainly were now. With the presence of a company of dwarves and a small army of Rangers, their bleak streets were aglow with colored lanterns, banners, sparklers, gold cloaks and cheers.

As the sun began to set the party began. Every street was littered with residents who were singing, dancing and drinking. Lyra and Brynmund were sitting on the balcony that she and Bilbo had shared earlier and Lyra couldn't help but laugh as she watched Ori and Bombur leading a congo-line down one of the alleys, the minstrel band at the front of the Hall playing lively music.

"It was nearly a month after you departed," Brynmund said drawing her attention back to him, "I was on midnight border patrol, my mind replaying sweet songs in my head, conjuring images of a beautiful face…" Lyra smiled softly and hid her blush behind the brim of her cup as she drank, "I had sworn to myself I wouldn't invade your privacy after you entrusted the book to me. But after knowing the things Gandalf had left, my curiosity couldn't be stifled. I read the book almost all the way through that night. At first it seemed a strange fiction, someone's cleverly woven words, but as rumors began to spread with the merchants who came and went through Tharbad, the truth of the prophetic book couldn't be denied. I sent runners to the Shire to inquire after this Bilbo Baggins to discover the truth of him."

"You did not!" Lyra said incredulously. Brynmund laughed and set his cup down as he leaned over the table.

"I did," he confirmed, "I had to." His eyes turned more serious, his brilliant smile faltering and he hesitantly reached for her hand. Lyra didn't take his at first, but considering the great favor he was doing, she relented and he held her hand tightly with his. "The end of the story…the dragon Smaug. I needed to know what dangers you were facing and with the threat of a war between five armies…I could not abandon you to bear the burden of this quest alone."

"I'm not alone, Brynmund," Lyra said as she delicately danced around the tenderness in his tone, "I have the dwarves and Gandalf will return soon."

"If I'm not mistaken, the sons of Durin die in this battle. Is it not them that have sworn to protect you?"

"Well…yes they have, but it's their death I'm trying to prevent. The story you read, it doesn't have to come to pass the way it's written. So many things have alrady been changed," Lyra tried to explain. "Brynmund, there's so much I've learned on this journey- why I'm here, who my parents were, things that I can do…"

"Aye I'm sure there's a great many things you can do," he said teasingly. Lyra's eyebrows furrowed in a glare and she made to remove her hand but he clutched it more tightly. "You were right in what you said before you left, about the Rangers being of more use to the world instead of tucked into ruins. It's why we decided to march. I gave all of my men the choice to return and protect their former homes, to ride North to the nomadic camps or to join me."

"It seems most of them came," Lyra said looking down at the city where many of the Western Rangers were mingling with the Lake Town citizens.

"All of them," he said once again pulling her eyes back, "I had in my charge eighty-two men and every single one of them rode with me."

"Your men love you," Lyra replied and smiled. Brynmund had a look of pride on his face.

"They do, and I love each of my men like brothers, but it was not just me they rode for. I explained that your life was in peril. They all remembered the handsome woman who filled their hearts with songs of bravery. They rode for you as well." Lyra felt a knot in her throat as she looked back at the men below. She felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and responsibility for them. Rising to her feet, she stood at the banister and Brynmund stood behind her. "None of us have forgotten you," he said quietly and Lyra shivered as she felt his hand on her shoulder that gently turned her to face him.

"Brynmund you need to know…" her sentence stopped short as he pulled back his long hair that he'd since lowered from his ponytail to hang freely around his shoulders. Pierced into his left ear was the same silver earring with the artificial pearl that she'd given to him in Tharbad. "You kept it?"

"I've worn it every day since your departure. I had hoped that, should we meet again, it might prove to be a token that meant more than 'farewell'," he said and his hand slid slowly down her arm to take her hand again.

"Brynmund, please I have to tell you…"

"No," he protested, "I can see in your eyes what you mean. I requested once that you sing for my men to give them an image they could hold onto, what I didn't know was that it was I who would picture your face every evening as I tried to sleep." His eyes weren't quite meeting hers but he raised a hand to cup her cheek, "your beautiful face…Let that memory be something I can hold onto."

"I wish you wouldn't," Lyra said placing her hand over his, "you deserve a woman who will love you in return. If our story had been told differently, maybe I could have been that woman…but I'm not. My heart belongs to someone else," she said as carefully as she could. Brynmund nodded and removed his hand from her face.

"Then he be a lucky man," Brynmund said with a genuine smile returning to his face, "does he return your affections?"

"Yes, he does."

"Then I offer my sincerest wishes for your eternal happiness together," he said and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. His lips lingered a moment, and likely against her better judgement, she took hold of his bearded face and pulled him down into a gentle kiss. He gripped her tightly by the shoulders and let her set the tone before she pulled away. "He's a lucky man indeed," Brynmund teased and she shoved his shoulder.

"Am I interrupting?" they both turned at the gruff voice to see Thorin standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Lyra swallowed hard and Brynmund looked between the two, realization dawning on him.

"Oakenshield?" he asked looking down at Lyra. She nodded and Thorin stepped forward almost in challenge. "Well then, Thorin Oakenshield," Brynmund said extending a hand to the dwarf, the Dunedain's height nearly eight inches taller than Thorin's, "I could not have lost her to a lesser man," Brynmund surrendered. Thorin paused a moment before clasping wrists with him. Pulling the taller man closer for a moment, Thorin fixed him with a hard stare.

"I did not realize she was ever yours to lose," he said quietly and daresay threateningly. Brynmund's face conveyed his apology as he bowed his head and walked past him to leave the two lovers alone on the balcony.

"It wasn't what it looked like," Lyra said quickly when Thorin's eyes returned to her.

"I hope it was," Thorin said walking directly up to her and placing his hands on the railing on either side of her. "It looked like you were telling him goodbye."

"In a way I was," she confessed, "Brynmund has proven a good friend and he's foolishly held onto the idea that I am more than I am."

"I had suspected," Thorin said and did his best to keep his temper in check, but the image of his woman kissing another man was hard to overcome.

"I've hurt you," she observed and hesitantly brushed his face with her hand. Thorin took it and kissed her palm.

"Nay, you've not hurt me," he replied. "You've reminded me that I am the rich beyond measure." Lyra's brow furrowed in confusion. "You're a beautiful woman, Lyra. Everything about you is enticing and alluring, you are a woman many men wish to claim for their own…" her cheeks turned bright pink, "but it is I, and I alone, that hold that right. Do I not?"

"You do," she said wrapping her arms around him, "you are the only one who can claim any right to me or my heart."

"Then let me never find your lips on anyone else again," he said in a gentle warning. Lyra nodded and moved to kiss him but Thorin stepped back. "Come," he instructed as he took her hand. "I'm going to fetch you a strong drink to wash the taste of Ranger from your mouth," he chided and Lyra scoffed at him. He took her firmly by the hips and glowered down at her, "and then you're going to tell me everything of Mirkwood." Swallowing hard she nodded.

 _Speaking of my lips on unwelcome men…_

…

Lyra watched helplessly from the center of the greenhouse as Thorin paced back and forth. The Hall had proven too chaotic for them to discuss anything, so she'd suggested the privacy of the hot house that adjoined the kitchen on the bottom floor. The vast array of plants permeated a sweet fragrance in the air. Lyra could smell basil, mint, cilantro, dill and tomatoes from the planters next to her. Though the delicious smells were not enough to pull her attention away from Thorin.

His eyes were ablaze as he paced, his footsteps pounding against the wooden floor. His fists were clenched and his breath was coming out in harsh exhales. She'd told him everything, sparing no detail of the Elven King's advances, her momentary encumbrance from his spell, and the reunion with her mother.

"Thorin, stop," she pleaded and he either didn't hear or he was ignoring her.

"Tha'll corl Kaad…" Thorin had taken to curing in Khuzdul and Lyra was terribly frightened that the horrendous insults were directed towards her.

"Thorin!" she grabbed his hand and pulled him against her, his eyes weren't meeting hers and he was shaking his head. "Stop, please," she begged and held his face, pulling his gaze toward her. "Just stop," she was whispering now, trying to sooth him as he shook. "Stop," she whispered again, her lips moving toward his, the whisper of their last touches still fresh. He stilled slightly, his body responding to hers, even if his mind was still conjuring images of a severed elven head...Add a Ranger to that pile as well.

"I left you," he finally managed to say. "I knew you were in peril and I left you…my pursuit of the Mountain has cost me my most basic morality…"

"Stop," she whispered one more time before her lips found his in another brief kiss. "I'm right here." She kissed him again, "I'm safe." His hands wound around her waist and gripped her tightly, his mind finally catching up to the embrace. This long awaited moment was finally before him.

"Forgive me," he asked pressing his forehead against hers. "I failed you." She stroked his face, her fingers running into his hair as she shushed him. "My Avan…" He pulled her tightly against him and covered her mouth with his. She inhaled sharply, the breath stolen from her. She returned the passion, pulling on the collar of his shirt to bring him as close as possible.

Their mouths struggled to synchronize as they both felt the desperation in their kiss. His beard scratching at her face, she pulled his lower lip between her teeth. He growled deep in his throat and pressed her firmly against wall behind the cilantro. His hands climbed up her back, tangled in her hair and he tugged at the roots of her locks pulling her head back to angle her mouth more towards his.

Desperation was an understatement. The long months of knowing each other, desiring each other, were past the point of formality. He'd wanted her the moment she stepped into the forge in Bree and she'd wanted him longer. He loved the way she pulled at him, constantly threatening him with her hands and words: either to harm or hunger, he never knew.

Lyra's breath caught as his mouth moved from hers to her chin and along her jaw. Her hot breath as she exhaled into his ear sounded so much like his name the heat in his groin surged and he dug his hips into hers. Drawing her hands down his chest, she tugged at his shirt and her fingers found their way underneath finding the warm skin of his abdomen. By Christ this dwarf was built of solid tone. His teeth sunk into her neck just under her ear as she traced a line of skin just above his belt before wrapping around his back and digging her nails into him.

"Kona, dr'ap mein," he spoke in her ear. She shivered at the guttural sound of Khuzdul and though she had no idea what he said, she smiled and pulled his mouth back to hers. He placed one hand on her face, the other gripping her side almost painfully. He parted their kiss, keeping his forehead against hers and he traced her mouth with his thumb. She smiled and kissed his palm. "Forgive me…"

"There's nothing to forgive," she replied, her eyes pleading with him to forgive himself. "You did what you had to. What you needed to do. I was the one who pushed you," she with a hint of laughter. "Erebor is more important than anything I can offer…"

"I'll never leave you again, my Anan. I` heita," he interrupted. _I promise_. She placed her hands on his chest, her fingers gently touching the braid that hung over his shoulder. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, her slightly swollen lips gave her more allure than ever. To think she'd been at the mercy of that disgusting, flaxen-haired prick…

"Prove it." The delicate tone she used to issue such a challenge awoke a primal reaction in him and he lost all propriety. After a moment's hesitation, he gripped her bottom tightly and lifted her onto the table behind them, knocking aside a potted plant that shattered on the ground. Pushing the hem of her dress up around her thighs, he parted her legs with his hips and occupied the space between. He devoured her mouth, her body melting against his as he tugged her dress down once again exposing her gorgeous chest. The cold air that blew across the lake met her salty skin and caused bumps to rise. He pushed her farther back onto the table as he kissed his way down and took a perked nipple into his mouth. Lyra moaned at the heat of his mouth as he flicked his tongue and grazed her sharply with his teeth. She pulled at his hair and his hands bruised her thighs they gripped so tightly. He palmed her other breast, the soft tissue fitting perfectly in his hand.

This certainly wasn't the direction she _thought_ this conversation was going to go…but there were no complaints to issue,

There was no catching her breath as Thorin claimed as much skin as he could. Her head swam and she gripped his hips as tightly as she could, the leather of his pants proving enough resistance to pull him into her. He straightened and made his way back to her mouth, but as he did the full length of him pressed against her heat and she gasped. "Tilkall…" he muttered and his hand slid between her legs. Her toes were curling in her boots and she felt faint from her short rapid breaths as his fingers found their way inside.

"Thorin," she moaned, her eyes squeezing shut at the pleasure. He pulled her trembling body to the edge of the table, the heel of his hand pressing against her most sensitive spot. She couldn't stop her body from pressing back into him, her hips rocking as she tried to feel more of him. "Don't stop," she pleaded, her teeth biting at his ear lobe. He pushed another finger inside and her back arched so hard, he had to hold her up. "Oh God," she cried and he quickly kissed her to muffle the sound. Despite the headiness of their erotic encounter, it was not lost on him, they weren't far from earshot. Though the festivities were raging around them, their own oasis remained undisturbed.

Incapable of keeping her hands from him any longer, she held onto his neck, pulling herself up and her hand immediately took the hard spot pressing against the front of his pants. "Ti`var!" he growled and his hand flew to her wrist.

"I want you," she whispered in his ear as she stroked him, eager to feel how much of him was down there.

"Ne'inn," he answered and despite every ounce of desire, he pulled her hand away. Her brow furrowed and she tried to squelch the feeling of rejection as he placed both hands on her shoulders. Seeing her hurt and confusion, he kissed her quickly and smiled. "I'll take nothing from you..."

"I'm offering…"

"…until I've given you a throne." It took her a moment to comprehend what he'd said and when she had, only a squeak of a noise was her response. "Mein Anan…mein Sv`ass…mein Drottning."

"I-I," her voice caught, "I don't know what that means…"

"Yes you do," he stated his gaze burning into her. _My Song, my Love, my Queen…_ "Be my queen. Let me spend my days fulfilling my promise to never leave you again." Every inch of her was tingly, like small surges of electricity were sparking under her skin.

"Thorin, I can't…" his eyes fell, "I can't think of what to say." She wasn't being clear and she knew it, he made to move away from her, but she pulled him back, "`Avalt." Beyond the shock of Khuzdul leaving her mouth, was the answer he had been hoping for. "`Avalt," she repeated hoping it was the word she meant. "I love you." He heard that perfectly and responded by kissing her passionately.

All the heat from the moment before returned, but with a new elation. His hands returned to her bare thighs, but this time more gently. He pulled her legs up until they were around his waist and he trailed his fingers along the smoothness of the back of her knee. She squirmed for a moment and broke from their kiss with a laugh. "That tickles," she said quietly, feeling like nothing in the world could tear the smile from her face. He arched an eyebrow and chuckled with her. "You're making me crazy," she said kissing along his neck. He took a moment to appreciate the soft feel of her kisses, her tongue occasionally lapping at him, sending pulsating desire throughout his body.

"Can't have that," he cooed gripping her hair at the root and pulling her back into a kiss. His hand found its way between her legs again and he slid a finger along her folds until he felt her buck against him when he'd found the right spot. Her moan hummed against his lips and he generously massaged her core until she squirmed and clung to him desperately.

"Thorin!" she nearly screamed as he withdrew his hand. He smiled fiendishly at her before roughly grabbing behind the knees and yanking her forward until she collapsed on her back on the table and her legs were draped over his shoulders. Her moan rattled windows as his tongue took over where his hand had been moments before. He held tightly to her thighs as he explored every delicious sound she made when he licked, flicked and nipped at her sensitive bud.

One of her hands was practically tearing at his hair and the other was clamped over her own mouth as she desperately tried to conceal the rapture that wracked her. The feel of his rough beard, soft lips, and firm tongue was causing an explosion of sensations in her. He could have asked anything of her in that moment and she'd have given it freely. Her eyes clenched shut as she allowed herself to feel every glorious moment of what the king between her legs was doing until the pressure of his tongue finally sent her over the edge. Her orgasm came in waves and he didn't relent in pressure until she was panting and pushing him away because she simply couldn't take anymore.

He finally relented and released her. She collapsed, a gentle hum of satisfaction purring from her. He bent over her and kissed the top of her head. She pulled his mouth down to hers, reveling in the warmth he'd acquired from her. "If I didn't love you before, I certainly do now," she teased. He chuckled and pulled her to her feet, watching intently as she redressed herself. Lounging against the table where she'd been previously, he took hold of her hips and pulled her backward until her back was against his chest. He pulled her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck behind her ear.

"And I love you, mein Anan," he said knowing full well holding her tightly like this was not going to do much to conceal his desire when they inevitably had to return to the Hall.

"Thorin," she said in a serious tone. Lyra turned around in his arms and draped hers over his shoulders. "I have to tell you something…about the mountain."

"Is this what you were speaking of before? What you saw outside of Mirkwood?" she nodded. "Don't. Tell me nothing that will discourage my venture. We are too close to turn around now."

"I'm not asking you to turn around, but I have to warn you. The Arkenstone it's…"

"It's the only thing that matters. I _will_ claim my birthright."

"Yes you will, but the gold it's…"

"It's my inheritance, stolen by the dragon Smaug."

"It is but, Smaug isn't the only thing you have to worry about. After you claim the mountain…"

"I will take my place as the rightful King of Erebor with you, my queen, at my side."

"Thorin, damnit, you die!" Her shout was shrill and it startled him. When he finally understood what she'd said, his brow furrowed. "Please, listen. You die. And not just you. Fili and Kili…" he pushed past her and began pacing again. "…they die too. Azog fulfills his mission and ends the royal line of Durin. And many others, elves, humans, dwarves from the iron hills…"

"How? This is what you foresaw?"

"Yes, I know for certain it happens unless we do something to stop it. To change the course."

"To abandon our quest?"

"No! Never! I would never ask that of you. I know you would sooner die than give up, and I will walk that path with you, into the fires of Mount Doom if needed. But you must listen to me; I would never lie to you about this. It's why I joined your quest. To save your life. To save Fili and Kili. To prevent war."

"War?" he asked, finally turning to look at her. Their eyes met with a combination of passion and understanding that moved the very earth beneath them. "Lyra…Tell me everything."


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N Here's another chapter! Thanks again to the amazing reviewers!** **(ignore the rant at the end of the chapter)! There is going to be quite a bit of deviation from the movie in this chapter because 1) I want to 2) PJ added a lot of nonsense between the dwarves and Smaug to fill up time and add special effects 3) …I want to ;)**

Lyra always hated rollercoasters. Never mind the unsettling statistics of deaths caused by faulty parts and incompetent carnies, what she hated most was the slow crawl the cars made as they climbed, pausing for the longest five seconds imaginable before suddenly, and inevitably, the passengers would plummet downward caught in an unrelenting series of twists, turns, loops and plunges. As she sat staring at the stone wall surrounded by the other dwarves and Bilbo, she could almost hear the _click, click, click_ of the track.

They'd been traveling since before sunup, the festivities had gone all night. Having her fair share of festivals back in Mirkwood, Lyra had contended herself to spend the evening in the greenhouse off the kitchen with Thorin. The memory brought a smile to her face and heat to her chest. From across the alcove, Lyra could see Thorin sitting on the ground with his forearms resting on his upraised knees, the key clutched with both hands.

"I still think we should have waited for Gandalf," Bilbo said as he handed Lyra a mug of hot broth. The sun was nearly past the horizon, and they'd soon have to put out the fire for better view of the keyhole. Thanks to Lyra, they knew the riddle in its entirety that the _last light of Durin's Day_ was in fact the moonlight.

"I know," Lyra said after she'd taken a drink, "but we couldn't wait. Gandalf is preoccupied with Dol Guldur, he'll be here soon," she tried to reason. In truth, she had hoped Gandalf would return sooner given her warning to him at the boarders of Mirkwood, but they hadn't received any word from him.

"I hope you're right," Bilbo said finally and Lyra squeezed his shoulder as she stood and crossed to Thorin. The eyes of all the dwarves followed her as they too felt the sting of anticipation. Thorin didn't look up at her as she sat next to him, but he shifted his weight ever so slightly to accommodate her.

"Thorin," she said as she extended the mug to him, "you need to eat something," she insisted when he shook his head to decline.

"I'm not hungry," he claimed and Lyra set the mug down to place her hand over his that still clutched the key. He smiled softly and let her lace her fingers with his. "I can't help this feeling," he said quietly, "to be so close and yet I feel far away."

"Udlag?" she asked and Thorin had to chuckle. Her Khuzdul was atrocious.

"Aye," he agreed and brushed her palm with his thumb.

"Give it a few more minutes Thorin, when the moon shines, the door will be revealed," Lyra said confidently.

"I wish I had your foresight," he admitted and finally turned his head to look at her. His heart swelled with pride as he saw the silver bead that hung from a braid at her shoulder. "I'll give you a proper one soon," he promised as he took hold of the bead, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand.

"I like this one," she defied with a smile. They'd talked well into the night, Lyra finally disclosing everything she knew of the last leg of their journey. Before they'd departed the greenhouse, he'd removed the bead from his hair and carefully woven it into hers.

"What did the Bowl show you?" Thorin asked knowing Lyra had spent time that afternoon glimpsing things to come. Her face hardened and her eyes dropped. They'd crested Ravenhill just after the sun was at its highest and Lyra had snuck away to activate the Singing Bowl.

"I saw dawn," she began. "The ground was still burning with fires and the sky was full of ravens that were flocking to the Mountain…"

"That's a good sign," Thorin interrupted. "The birds of Ravenhill have long been allies to the dwarves of Erebor. My grandfather taught me Raven's Speech. He often counseled with Carc, the chieftain and wisest of birds."

"On a side note, it's adorable that you can talk to birds," Lyra teased and Thorin glared at her and mumbled something like _ravens_ , but she continued her recount. "I could see the western shore of Lake Town where people were still scrambling to put out fires in the turrets. The rest of the town was undamaged."

"So your plan works? Mahal has blessed me with a tactician for a bride," Thorin complimented and Lyra's cheeks flushed. "The dragon?"

"I didn't see him," Lyra said and the nerves in her voice were evident. "He was dead, I think. I can't explain it, but there was a sense of dread I could feel…like something was wrong."

"I cannot be the one to lecture you on stifling feelings of dread," Thorin said and brushed his fingers into her hair, "but I can understand. The dragon is the first of many battles we have to face. Yet if you saw he was dead and the Town was spared, this is cause for joy. Yet I see fear in your eyes…"

"I couldn't see anything past that," Lyra admitted, "I knew all along Smaug would meet his end. Sparing Lake Town was important, but beyond that I fear…"

"Put those thoughts from your mind," he said abruptly, "no harm will come to me or my sister-sons." Lyra looked over at the far end of the clearing where Fili and Kili were talking in low tones to Balin and Dori.

"You can't know that, Thorin," Lyra argued, "I've seen you die a hundred times in writing and at least a dozen times in the Singing Bowl to dragon, sword, arrow, orc…"

"If memory serves, you also saw me die in the Misty Mountains."

"Yeah but…"

"Hush," he commanded in a soft tone, "I'll give you the same answer as I did then: I am harder to kill than you think. Your foresight stands as a warning, but it is not written in stone."

"I know that, but you haven't seen what I've seen…you think it's easy for me to look into the future and see your lifeless body?" The strained prickle of tears began forming in her eyes, but Thorin silenced her with a kiss.

"Mein Anan," he said tenderly, "you think I have not seen the same? Countless dreams of harm befalling you and my nephews have plagued me for months, but I cannot succumb to fear. I cannot prevent all evils in this world, but today I can enter that Mountain, rouse the dragon and ensure his demise. Tomorrow, I will face the threat of Azog."

"I wish you had sent for Dain…"

"Leave Ironfoot to me," Thorin interrupted once again. "My cousin will ride for the Mountain when he hears of Smaug's death or the Arkenstone is presented, but not before."

"Yes but by the time the letter reached him, Smaug would be dead already."

"Dain is more brute than politician, but he's no fool. He'll have his eye on the lookout for the Ravens of Erebor. That'll be the only way to ensure our victory. Believe me on this, dwarves can be difficult to persuade." Thorin still felt bitterness when he remembered the council he'd summoned all those months ago.

"You can say that again," Lyra muttered and Thorin chuckled as he kissed her forehead again. "I saw the Ravens in my vision…"

"Aye, you did. And they would not return unless Smaug was dead, so you see Anan, things are falling into place. Do not let your fear overtake you," he advised, "have faith in me."

"I do," Lyra said sincerely as she covered his hand with hers, "I have always had faith in you."

"Thorin!" Dwalin's abrupt shout drew their attention and Thorin was quick to his feet. The clouds overhead were parting and moonlight soaked the stone wall. Collectively they all held their breath as they waited for any sign of the door. Bofur held his hand out and helped Lyra to her feet and she clutched his arm as she felt something brush past her face.

"Look," she whispered and pointed. The flutter of wings had disrupted the air as a coal black bird with yellow chest feathers perched on the rock above them. Clutched in its beak was the shell of a snail that it began striking against the wall in an attempt to break it open.

" _Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole_ …" Balin recited. Thorin was moving forward as the silver moon saturated the stone that seemed to absorb the light. Sure enough, slivers of runes began to weave in ornate designs to outline the door and in the very center with a subtle scraping noise, the indentation of a keyhole became visible.

"Let this day forever mark lamentation for those who have doubted us," Thorin said boldly as he fit the key into the lock. It turned easily and with a collective gasp, Thorin placed both hands on the wall and pushed the door open. Bofur's hold on her arm tightened as the Company stood in silence.

Such a simple act, opening a door, and yet it had taken over a century of striving and months of questing to see it done. The doorway was still illuminated like a lighthouse in fog, beckoning the wandering travelers safely home. And they were home. Finally.

"Thorin," Balin said in a cracking voice as the older dwarf joined his King at the entryway. Thorin placed a firm hand on his shoulder as together they entered the mountain.

"I know these halls," Thorin said in a trembling voice. His hands stroked the stone walls with a sense of familiarity as though he'd pictured them every day in his mind for last one hundred seventy-one years. "Do you remember it Balin? Rooms filled with golden light, the sons of Durin walking the halls with pride…"

"Aye, I remember it," Balin agreed and the others gathered around the doorway. Lyra and Bilbo both hung back, their hands finding each other's as they felt the rush of emotion overtake them at the sight of their beloved dwarves one by one entering the Lonely Mountain. "The Seventh Kingdom of Durin's Folk, may the heart of the Mountain unite all dwarves in defense of this home," he read from the seal over the doorway.

"The heart of the Mountain?" Bilbo asked as he finally stepped inside. "Is that the Arkenstone?"

"It is indeed Master Baggins," Thorin replied, "and that's exactly what you're going to have to steal."

Balin stepped toward to the gulping hobbit and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, "come on then lad, no sense in putting it off." Bilbo looked back at Lyra one last time before he went with Balin. The dwarves all clapped him on the back and gave him cheers as the two disappeared into the dark end of the hall.

"He'll be alright," Lyra breathed as she wrapped her arms around herself and watched him walk off. The hobbit had grown so immensely since they'd first departed the Shire and she needed to remind herself that playing the mother-hen wasn't going to accomplish anything. Bilbo had what it took to do this and she had to let him. Her task was to fight other battles. "Hello there," she said almost self-consciously to the thrush that was still perched near the door. Lyra knelt and the bird chirped happily. "Right…here's hoping you're the right Thrush. You have to go to Lake Town and find Bard, he's waiting for you. Tell him we've entered the Mountain and the dragon is going to attack tonight. Smaug's weak point is a loosened scale under his left breast - near the heart. Can you do that?"

 _Chirp_

"Does that mean yes?" Lyra asked and the bird cocked its head. "Please, you're a thrush! The men of Lake Town can understand you and there's no way we can send word fast enough."

 _Chirp chirp_.

"Oh fine," Lyra said standing up. She glared at the bird that was still watching her and she made to turn around when she saw the pebble-sized treat on the ground between them, "oh!" Lyra cried in realization. She knelt again, smashed open the snail shell and held out the gooey critter. The bird jumped up and snatched the food, downing it with a flick of its head. "Now will you go?"

 _Chirp chirp chirp!_

Bouncing from her hand to her shoulder the thrush took flight, his wings brushing the side of her face before it flew off in the direction of the Town.

"It's quite _adorable_ how you can talk with birds," Thorin chimed from the doorway. Lyra stood, wiping the snail slime from her hand and smiled at her dwarf. "The others are making their way to the upper balcony to watch for Bilbo. Are you not coming?"

"I wanted you all to have your moment," Lyra admitted as she approached him. "You're home," she said smiling and holding his face in her hands. Looking into his eyes she could see they were still wet with tears and he was swallowing the lump in his throat.

"No yet," he said in a soft voice. Wrapping an arm around her back and the other taking her at the knees, he lifted her into his arms and carried her through the doorway. "Now I'm home," he said meeting her eyes in the remaining moonlight that streaked through the doorway. Draping her arm around his shoulder, she planted a firm kiss on his mouth. Stopping at the end of the hallway, he set her on her feet and turned her to face the open gallery. "Erebor," he introduced and Lyra felt herself get lost in the vastness of the hall.

The ceiling was nearly a mile overhead and the halls and walkways below were layered over ten times that distance. There was no earthly way for her to see that far down. From unseen crevices that served as windows, the moon overhead shone down and illuminated the floor they were on. Like centurions, massive stone replicas of the dwarven kings of old stood guard at every entryway and turret. The alternating textures of polished stone and jagged rock was just the first indication of the master craftsmanship of the halls. Just the enormity and scale of the kingdom made Lyra shiver.

The others were moving about, their soft shuffling feet and whispers weren't enough to pull her eyes away from the sight. She could almost imagine how the halls would glow when the lanterns were lit, how the city once bustled with jovial dwarves who moved about with purpose and confidence. Without realizing it, a single tear made its way down her cheek and she placed her hands over Thorin's on her shoulders.

"I could get used to this," Lyra said smiling and looking at him over his shoulder. Cupping her face he gave her a long kiss before eagerly pulling her by the hand to follow the others.

…

Despite their large feet, hobbits were capable of moving quite stealthily. Yet with every single step, Bilbo could swear the sound echoed off the marble walls. Blood pounded in his ears with each heartbeat and he felt faint from trying to hold his breath.

 _Not at home…maybe he's not at home…dragons need to go for a stroll every now and then…_

Bilbo felt his last heat reserves drain from his body when the walkway opened to the main hall. There was no floor to be seen for the piles of gold that formed mountains as far as his eyes could stretch. The vast wealth the dwarves had acquired was grossly under exaggerated. He could search for years and never find a single jewel in this hoard!

 _Right…you'll know it when you see it, you'll know it when you see it…_ he chanted in his mind, the last piece of advice Balin had given him before disappearing and leaving him to his task. Bilbo descended the staircase and began the trek across the golden surface. Even a hobbit was unable to keep the rattling and clank of coin underfoot from making a disturbingly loud noise against the still air.

"White jewel, white jewel, white jewel…" he recited and had to force his thoughts away from the hopeless feeling of looking for a needle in a haystack. For lack of any better idea, he simply started where he was at.

Even from the surface he could see round gems, clear gems, amethyst, rubies, diamonds and strange black ones that looked like the night sky. He spent what felt like hours sifting, sorting, digging and wandering the piles of gold. Groaning in frustration, he kicked a particularly large goblet and it clattered against one of the tone pillars. Flinching at the sound, he held perfectly still as he waited for any sign he'd been heard by the dragon.

With no evidence to refute, Bilbo sighed in relief and turned to continue his search, but he froze upon seeing behind him, protruding from the coins, was a single eyelid that fluttered with movement. Instinctively he crouched behind the pillar and the rattle of coins behind him alerted him that the dragon was not only breathing, he was surfacing.

"I smell you…Thief," rumbled the dragon, his voice like cracking rock. Bilbo felt his hands shake as he removed the ring from his cloak and put it on, the veil of invisibility taking him. Coins and treasure splattered all around him as the dragon rose from his golden slumber. "I hear your breath and taste your fear. Where are you, Thief in the shadow!?" his booming voice rattled the ground and the unstable ground beneath him caused Bilbo to slip. He lay motionless on his back as Smaug prowled overhead. His talon-like claws dug into the hoard and Bilbo watched breathlessly as his gold plated belly passed above. He didn't dare move until Smaug's teeth were well past him.

"I-I did not come to steal from you, Smaug the keeper of unimaginable wealth," Bilbo called. Smaug's head turned back toward the sound, but even with his sharp ears, the echo of the unfamiliar and soft voice was impossible to place.

"Then why have you come?" he growled, the rumble once again causing the ground to shift and Bilbo slid farther down the pile. Fortunately he caught himself on another pillar and pressed his back against it to keep his focus on which direction Smaug was turning. "I know this gold, every coin, every jewel, every cup, plate, and crown…you've brought something…something new…something gold…"

"I came to see if the legends were true," Bilbo called hoping to distract attention away from the gold ring he wore, "to-to see if Smaug the Magnificent was as-as perilous as the songs and tales foretold."

"Well!" Smaug roared as he whipped around the pillar Bilbo was tucked under and rose to his full height. His wings spread wide and sprays of coins shattered around him with the force. Smaug's long, serpent-like neck stretched nearly as high as the columns and his tail was slapping the ground with such power, it cracked like a whip. "My hide is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears! The shock of my tail is a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane and my breath is death! Do your stories speak of that?" he cried. "Do they?" at his full height, Smaug's voice echoed so loudly it shook the Mountain.

"Truly, the stories fall utterly short of your splendor, Smaug the stupendous," Bilbo said and felt it was entirely true. Smaug's head was like the very rock of the mountain, his horns longer than the length of Bilbo's body. His scales were thick and with every movement, Bilbo could see the strength of his muscles under the thick hide of his skin. "They say you may have fled the Mountain or perhaps you had died. But I did not believe them! I knew nothing could strike down the strength of Smaug the Impervious…"

"You're very polite for a thief and a liar," Smaug said as his yellow eyes shone like beams of light in the darkness, always searching for where the critter was hiding. "Do not think your flattery will save you." His head ducked down toward the surface of gold as he sniffed, the puffs of air from his nostrils disrupting in ripples.

"You know my name, but I don't recall ever smelling you before. Tell me, what are you and where do you come from?"

Bilbo barely had time to slide around the far side of the pillar before Smaug's teeth gnashed at the air near him. He went toppling down the slope as the entire pile of treasure shifted and for a moment he was partially buried in coin. Smaug's stomping steps did nothing to help free him as Bilbo was buried up to his waist. "I-I-I come from under hill," Bilbo said as he struggled to free himself without drawing attention to his location.

"Underhill?"

"Yes, yes and under hills and over hills my journey has brought me…" he said with a nervous chuckle. Smaug's tail cracked the ground, his prowling movements taking him the opposite direction of Bilbo. That's when the light caught his attention. In a glass chest a mere ten yards from him, but tucked under the back legs of the dragon, was the glowing jewel that could be nothing else but the Arkenstone.

 _You'll know it when you see it_.

"…And through the air I have walked unseen…"

"Impressive," Smaug cooed as he shifted through the gold, sliding easily through the hoard. "Not a usual name. What else do you claim to be?""

"I am luck wearer…clue-finder, web-cutter…spider-stinger," Bilbo was inching closer and closer.

"You tell riddles…"

"Barrel-rider." His fingers grazed the chest.

"Barrels?" Smaug snapped as his head jerked around to stare directly at Bilbo. Despite his invisibility, Bilbo could swear he saw the dilation in his eyes as the locked onto him. "Most unusual, but I have solved your riddle. Tell me, do your dwarf friends call you Barrel-rider?"

"D-d-dwarf friends? No-no, no dwarfs here."

"I know the smell and taste of dwarf like none other," Smaug said rising back to his full height, "did you think I did not know this day would come?" He whipped his tail through the air with such force it smashed through the pillar behind him and sliced it in half. The crumbling pieces slammed into the ground and Bilbo ducked from the debris. "I knew one day that scheming hoard of greedy dwarves would come crawling back to the Mountain like flies to dead flesh. What was the promised price for you to do their dirty work? A share of _my_ treasure?!"

"You are mistaken Smaug the chiefest and greatest calamity of our time," Bilbo practically hollered and he tried to discreetly conceal his stolen item. Bilbo felt the ground fall beneath his feet as Smaug launched himself toward the hobbit, his feet pounding so firmly the earth shook and Bilbo was thrown hard onto his back, the dragon crouching over him. Smaug sniffed and huffed, a smile spreading across his face as he finally discovered his prey.

"Oakenshield sent you…"

"No I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"He sent you for the Arkenstone…Go on then, Barrel-rider, take _it_ to him," Smaug snarled, "I've killed the King Under the Mountain. I have eaten his people like a wolf among sheep. Now I will let the Arkenstone drive his grandson mad before I devour him like the rest of his kind. Where are the dwarves hiding!"

"Truly, Smaug the Tyrannical you are mistaken, there-there are no dwarves. I came only to prove the rumors wrong, to see you for all your glory with my own eyes!" Bilbo was getting desperate and the stench of Smaug's sulfuric breath was suffocating him.

"Rumors?" he asked in a suddenly eerily calm voice. Standing upright once again Bilbo let out a breath as he scrambled toward the staircase. "Darkness is spreading throughout the land. It lies in wait…but I kill when I wish! Perhaps it is time to remind the world who is the mightiest foe!"

…

Bard was pacing the boardwalk at the edge of the lake, his fists gripping both longbow and black arrow in either hand. At his back, Lake Town was completely dark. Before dawn the Master had ordered every fire extinguished, every lantern put out, windows and doors sealed and all women and children to take shelter in root cellar, basement, or burrow before midday. His own children were confined to the bottom layer of Madame Etry's, but as Bard gazed back at the Town he couldn't help but feel he'd buried its people under a mountain of kindling. Dragon fire would tear through the city in minutes. Yet what could be done now?

"You sent for me?" Captain Brynmund of the Western Guard asked as he and two of his soldiers approached.

"I've received word from the mountain," Bard said to the taller man, "they've entered the Mountain. The dragon is coming." Overhead the messenger, the exuberant Thrush, still circled.

"We'd best get you on the barge then," Brynmund replied. As per their agreed upon plan, the eastern shore of the lake, some five miles from the Town, dozens of fires and lamps were lit in attempt to draw the attention away from the actual city. Their best bet was to try to keep the dragon preoccupied until it could be brought down. Brynmund's own men, combined with the able bodied men of Lake Town, were lining the eastern shore armed with spear, arrow, and bola. In reserve, a contingent of men occupied the western shore, an equal distance from the city, ready to ignite the massive bonfire they'd spent the day constructing. If Smaug wanted fire, they would give it to him.

"Captain!" a rider called not two minutes after Bard with a company of six soldiers had departed onto the open water.

"What is it Dorl?" Brynmund asked as the panting man quickly dismounted. Dorl was one of his chief officers he'd entrusted the oversight of the western shore to.

"Sir," he said swallowing a large breath, "scouts have spotted an orc party crossing the Celduin River from the southwest."

"How many?" Brynmund asked feeling this the worst possible time for orcs to attack.

"Our scouts spotted twenty torches," Dorl answered as the two men fell in step to return to the streets.

"Orcs travel best at night. There will be at least ten orcs per torch, likely more. We've only twenty men left in the whole of the city and the dragon is on its way…"

"I've thirty men at the western shore; we can stand between them and the city." Brymund stopped to clamp a hand on Dorl's shoulder.

"Bard rides for the East, he'll alert the camp of the dragon's approach. I ride with you to the west. We'll take what men we've left and barricade the shore. We'll draw them away from the Town as long as we can."

"Yes sir!" Dorl agreed and remounted to ride back to the encampment. Brynmund slid into the saddle fo his own horse and rallied the men around him to ride for the western shore.

Now they would face a battle on two fronts: an orc pack to the west and a dragon to the east. Brynmund could only hope help was coming from the Mountain.

…

Lyra was gazing at the stories of conquest and glory that were etched in the stone walls along the gallery level. The dwarves were experiencing waves of nerves for their missing burglar, elation to finally be in their lost kingdom, and hesitation with every rumble and rattle that echoed from the distance.

From their vantage point in one of the highest turrets above the hidden passage, they could see every staircase that led back up to them. The moment they saw Bilbo returning, they could flee for the exit. Their journey could end easily if Bilbo was able to retrieve the stone undetected and Thorin could send for his armies, or the more likely result, the inevitable one, the dragon would awaken and it would come down to the men of the lake to kill it.

"I'm proud of you," Lyra said as she approached Thorin. He was standing before a replica of his grandfather, the figure carved from red granite and gold. His ears perked at Lyra's arrival. "The oath you made to the Master and Lake Town to make recompense for their help. It feels like it wasn't too long ago we argued over my promise to do the same for the Eagles and Beorn."

"It's what you would have done," he stated as he looked down at her. "Your voice rang in my mind as though you were with me still. You'll never know the impact you had when I last saw your face before the river took me away."

"I would apologize for pushing you, but in truth I'd make the same decision again," Lyra confessed.

"Don't mistake me, I don't mean that as a reprimand, I meant it as a compliment."

"Well we both know how good I am at taking those…"

"Thinking it may be the last time I saw you, what you'd imparted in me became more than words. At the prospect of your sacrifice it became as engrained in me as my own oath. I knew that on your behalf I would need to honor the promises you made with your life."

"You're an honorable man Thorin, you would have done it with or without me," Lyra said and watched as Thorin's shoulders tensed.

"Honorable…" he muttered darkly.

"What is it?" she asked taking his arm.

"I feel it," he said barely above a whisper, "had you not confided in me what you knew, perhaps I would not sense it now…"

"The gold sickness?" she asked feeling the pangs of fear. Since Bilbo's departure, Thorin had grown quiet. She and Balin, whom she'd also spoken to on their journey, were watching intently for any sign that their King was losing his bearings.

"I felt it before we even entered the Mountain. I stood on the bow of the bargeman's boat and I turned my back to the woods. I forsook you for Erebor…"

"That's what I wanted you to do. You put the quest first…"

"I told myself that too," he interrupted. At his sharp tone, Balin and Dwalin turned to listen in and Lyra cast a concerned look their way. "I had convinced myself that I was putting the triumph of my people first because at the time it aligned with the quest. Until last night when you told me of how-how I would betray my oath to the citizens of Lake Town and abandon them the way we were abandoned by the elves. I knew it was true. I knew I was capable of it…because I'd already left you.

"I feel the hunger growing, like an abyss opening in my chest. With every passing moment I grow more impatient waiting for that _burglar_ to bring me the Arkenstone! Where is he?!" Thorin slammed his fist against the chest of his grandfather's likeness.

"Bilbo." Thorin turned his head to see Balin standing with tears in his eyes. "His name is Bilbo."

"Look!" Dori cried. Lyra's eyes lingered on Thorin a moment longer before they rushed to the balcony edge to see Bilbo scrambling up the steps.

"He's done it, he's found the stone!" Thorin said racing to meet him at the bottom of the stairs. Before any of them could reach the hobbit, the wall behind him exploded and the dragon poured through the new entrance.

"Now you will all burn!" Smaug roared and his golden belly lit up before flames erupted from his throat.

"Get back!" Thorin yelled and tackled the train of dwarves behind him before any could be consumed with flame. Smaug didn't stop as he tore through the mountainside like the walls were made of paper. The walls shook and rubble fell around them as the dragon took flight outside and flew toward the lights in the distance.

"Bilbo!" Lyra screamed as she tried to untangle herself from the heap of bodies. Tripping over limbs toward the stairs where she'd last seen her friend, Lyra fell hard on the ground. She screamed in pain as the burning ground singed her hands.

"Lyra!" Kili cried as he pulled her to her feet. Neither of them hesitated to scramble the rest of the way down the partially severed staircase. The secret entrance beneath them had been collapsed in the wreckage. A single small hand protruding from the bottom.

"Bilbo! Bilbo!"

"Clear the rubble!" Thorin ordered. Every set of hands began pulling and tearing at rocks, the pile slowly dwindling. Dwalin and Balin each took a hand and pulled Bilbo free.

"Bilbo, open your eyes," Lyra begged as she shook his chest. His small frame was covered in dirt and his head was bleeding.

"Move," Thorin barked as he pushed Lyra aside. She fell backwards and into Dwalin. "Where is it?" he asked as he searched the hobbit, patting him down from head to toe.

"Thorin!" Lyra choked out as they all stared in disbelief. "Thorin Bilbo is dying, we have to help him!"

"It's not here," Thorin growled as he looked back at the Company, but his eyes were no longer their brilliant blue. Instead, they were pitch-black and his snarl rivaled the dragon's. "Find me that stone!"

…

"Captain we're being overrun!" Dorl yelled across the battlefield. Their small company of men had fought valiantly, but the hordes of orcs had them outnumbered five to one. Brynmunds blade was soaked with blood and the ground was littered with the bodies of Rangers, Lake Men, wargs and orcs. "It's only a matter of time before they reach the Town."

"I know," Brynmund said, his breathing coming out heavily. "Gather the men that you can. Ride to the village and sound the alarm. We need the forces from the eastern bank."

"But the dragon…"

"The orcs will get to the villagers long before the dragon does if we don't stop them. Now go! I'll draw them off." Dorl knew better than to argue with his Captain.

"To me!" Dorl shouted and led the charge back to Lake Town. Brynmund retrieved a fallen torch and leapt over the fallen bodies at his feet. He had to strike down two orcs in his path before he reached the beacon. Tossing the torch onto the wood, the bonfire quickly took flame.

"Come on then," Brynmund said quietly as the fire lit up the hills to the west where warg riding orcs flooded the plane. Brandishing sword in hand, he stepped into the clear. Lake Town at his back, he solely occupied the space between the onslaught and the village. "For Lyra!"

…

Bard could feel the moment the dragon departed the mountain. The air was so still, the flap of his wings echoed off the water like a coming storm.

"Light the barges," he instructed. The longboat he and the other men were in was situated nearly dead center in the Lake. The men each lit an arrow and fired it into the darkness. Though nearly out of site, the men could still make out the faint rowboats they'd lashed together. When the fiery arrows hit their mark, the oil soaked wood ignited and spread quickly. Combine with the bonfires lit along the shore, the makeshift floating city would prove a bearing for the dragon. He only hoped the near two centuries in wait was sufficient to disorient Smaug to fall for the decoy long enough to bring him down.

"Here it comes!" one of the guard yelled. The clouds overhead were a blessing as they shielded the stars and moon. The extra darkness was in their favor. Yet the dragon tore through them like a whirlwind, his wings blowing so harshly it nearly tipped the boat as he passed overhead.

Smaug's fire lit up the night as bright as the sun, but the distraction worked! His breath shredded first the rowboats and then spread to the coast. "It's working," Bard said as the dragon circled back. "Get me close enough for a shot!" Their oars hit the water and they made chase. Smaug's terrible roar shattered the silence and he sent another blast of fire at the coast.

"Where are you, vermin!" his booming voice echoed. The fire was spreading quickly and despite the arrows the men along the shore were firing sprays of arrows, as Bard neared he could hear them ricocheting off his steel-like scales. Smaug landed and his roar of anger shook the earth. Amidst the firelight, he could see there was no town where he once thought. "I will destroy you. Your flesh will melt from your bodies and I'll bury your bones in the rubble of your city!"

"Steady!" Bard called. The dragon was still enough, his belly glowing as he prepared another blast of fire. Bard's keen eyes could pick up the fragmented scale on his chest. "I've got the shot." His arm was strong and his bow was steady as he drew the string back.

And then they heard it.

The tolling of the steeple bell from Lake Town rang through the air. Bard turned sharply to look back at the Town. Though it was barely visible, he knew the sound of the warning bell that was being tolled.

"The village is under attack," the guard at his side said. "There! They've lit the second bonfire!" Across the lake, their backup plan was burning uselessly. Bard turned back, his bowstring drawn, but the dragon was already stretching his wings to take flight.

"No!" Bard yelled. He'd lost the shot. "Quickly, make for the Town!" Bard yelled and once again their oars hit the water. The sky trembled once again as Smaug took to the air. Bard looked back at the terrible sight, knowing that they'd never make it in time to stop him from reaching the villagers. The dragon's golden eyes gazed down long enough to spot their boat and his fire erupted from his mouth. In seconds, their boat was incinerated and the black arrow sank beneath the water.

 **On a side note, to the person who felt it necessary to send me a PM for every chapter telling me about every spelling mistake and your personal opinion on the names I use in the story (seriously 'Hanks' was a joke, I don't know how I could have made that more obvious)… If you're still reading, apparently this horrendous story full of inaccuracies: No, I'm not going to continue the conversation with you. I have had more than one person send me messages with construtive criticism that I welcome! You however feel it necessary to bash anything you don't agree with. Well honey, it's Fanfiction and I can do whatever the hell I want with this story. Bilbo has green hair? Yep! I prefer to call her Goldenberry to make her more OC? Yep (obviously the symbolism of the color themes that are rampant in this story were lost on you)! Lyra sprouts wings and spits nails, abso-fucking-lutely! If you don't like the story, that's fine! Don't read it. It doesn't hurt my feelings. You don't like my ideas? Ok, go write your own story! In the meantime, yes I'm going to block you and delete all of your reviews because you literally blew up my email with your spam messages that were 0% helpful. Oh, and I hope you have a great fucking day.**

 **End rant.**


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